MCAJOHY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


IP   I   WERE    KING 


IF  I 
WERE    KING 


BY 


JUSTIN    HUNTLY    McCARTHY 


NEW    YORK 
GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 


Copyright,  /po/,  by  Robert  Howard  Russell 


DEDICATION 

To  Her 
Through  Whom  and  For  Whom: 

This  Book  was  Written 
*The  Loveliest  Lady  this  side  of  Heaven." 

XXI.  XII.  MCMI. 


2042043 


If  I  were  king — ah  love,  if  I  were  king! 

What  tributary  nations  would  I  bring 

To  stoop  before  your  sceptre  and  to  swear 

Allegiance  to  your  lips  and  eyes  and  hair. 

Beneath  your  feet  what  treasures  I  would  fling:-* 

The  stars  should  be  your  pearls  upon  a  string, 

The  world  a  ruby  for  your  finger  ring, 

And  you  should  have  the  sun  and  moon  to  wear 

If  I  were  king. 

Let  these  wild  dreams  and  wilder  words  take  wing, 

Deep  in  the  woods  I  hear  a  shepherd  sing 

A  simple  ballad  to  a  sylvan  air, 

Of  love  that  ever  finds  your  face  more  fair. 

I  could  not  give  you  any  godlier  thing 

If  I  were  king. 


IF    1    WERE    KING 


CHAPTER    I 
IN    THE    FIRCONE    TAVERN 

IN  the  dark  main  room  of  the  Fircone  Tavern  the 
warm  June  air  seemed  to  have  lost  all  its  delicacy, 
like  a  degraded  angel.  It  was  sodden  through  and 
through,  as  with  the  lees  of  wine;  it  was  stained  and 
shamed  with  the  smells  of  hams  and  cheeses;  it  was 
thick  and  heavy  as  if  with  the  breaths  of  all  the 
rognes  and  all  the  vagabonds  that  had  haunted  the 
hostelry  from  its  evil  dawn.  Such  guttering  lights 
and  glimmering  flames  as  lit  the  place — for  there 
was  a  small  fire  on  the  wide  hearth  in  spite  of  the 
fine  weather — peopled  the  gloom  with  fantastic 
quivering  shadows  as  of  lean  fingers  that  unfolded 
themselves  to  filch,  or  clenched  themselves  to  stab 
in  the  back.  But  its  patrons  seemed  to  like  the 
place  well  enough  in  spite  of  its  miasma,  and  Master 
Robin  Turgis,  the  fat  landlord,  drowsy  with  his  own 
wine  and  dripping  from  the  heat,  surveyed  them 
complacently,  and  wallowed  as  it  were  in  the  rattle 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

and  clink  of  mug  and  can,  the  full-throated  laughter 
and  the  shrill  chatter,  crisply  emphasized  by  oaths, 
which  assured  him  of  the  Fircone's  popularity  with 
its  intimates.  Master  Robin's  intelligence  was  lim- 
ited; his  wit  was  simple;  the  processes  of  his  mind 
moved  easily  along  the  lines  of  least  resistance.  The 
Burgundians  might  be  hammering  with  mailed  fists 
at  the  walls  of  Paris;  the  fire-new  crown  of  Louis 
the  Eleventh  might  be  falling  from  the  royal  fore- 
head: it  mattered  not  a  jot  to  dishonest  Robin  so 
long  as  the  Fircone  brimmed  with  company. 

There  was  enough  company  in  the  room  on  this 
evening  to  content  even  his  wish.  It  was  not  the 
kind  of  company  that  a  wise  man  would  desire  to 
keep,  but  it  delighted  the  innkeeper,  for  it  drank 
deeply  and  spent  freely,  and  in  Robin's  view  it  was 
of  no  more  concern  to  him  how  the  money  that 
changed  hands  was  come  by  than  it  was  how  the 
profound  potations  might  affect  the  brains  and  stom- 
achs of  his  clients.  If  any  officer  of  the  law  had 
questioned  him  as  to  his  association  with  a  certain 
mysterious  Brotherhood  of  the  Cockleshells  whose 
plunderings  and  pilferings  were  the  pride  of  the 
Court  of  Miracles  and  the  fear  of  citizens  with  strong 
boxes,  he  would  have  shrugged  his  fat  shoulders  and 
shaken  his  round  head  and  disowned  all  knowledge 

10 


IN   THE   FIRCONE   TAVERN 

of  any  such  unlawful  corporation.  Yet  his  face 
.wrinkled  with  smiles  as  his  glance  rested  amiably 
upon  the  bodily  presences  of  certain  illustrious  mem- 
bers of  the  brotherhood,  wild  men  in  withered  frip- 
pery, wine-stained  to  the  very  bones. 

They  were  five  in  number,  and  four  of  them  were 
huddled  round  a  table  in  the  cosiest  corner  of  the 
room,  the  corner  that  was  sheltered  from  the  heat  of 
the  fire  by  the  high-backed  settle,  the  corner  that  was 
nearest  to  the  main  door  if  one  desired — as  one  often 
did — to  slip  out  in  a  hurry,  and  to  the  red-curtained 
windows,  if  one  desired — as  one  seldom  did — a 
mouthful  of  fresh  air.  Kobin  Turgis  knew  them  all, 
admired  them  all,  feared  them  all,  and  yet  he  held 
head  against  them  because  his  Beaune  wine  was  so 
adorable,  and  because  he  could  keep  his  own  counsel. 
Slender  Rene'  de  Montigny,  in  a  jerkin  of  rubbed 
and  faded  purple  velvet,  with  his  malign,  Italianate 
face  and  his  delicate  Italianate  grace;  rotund  Guy 
Tabarie,  bluff,  red  and  bald;  Casin  Cholet,  tall  and 
bird-like,  with  the  figure  of  a  stork  and  the  features 
of  a  bird  of  prey;  Jehan  le  Loup,  who  looked  as 
vulpine  as  his  nickname;  these  Robin  Turgis  eyed 
and  catalogued  with  a  kind  of  pride.  It  was  a  fear- 
Bome  privilege  for  the  Fircone  to  boast  such  patron- 
age. On  the  settle,  with  his  face  to  the  fire,  Colin  de 

it; 


IF  I   WERE   RING 

Cayeulx  sprawled  in  a  drunken  sleep,  forgetting  and 
forgotten,  a  harmless  looking,  good-natured  looking 
knave  who  was  neither  harmless  nor  good-natured. 

For  every  man  of  the  gang  there  was  a  woman, 
and  there  was  a  woman  over,  who  was  easily  the 
central  star  of  the  flaunting  galaxy.  The  shabby 
bravery  of  the  men  was  matched  by  the  shabby 
bravery  of  five  out  of  the  six  women.  Gaudy,  paint- 
ed, assertive  strumpets  with  young,  fair,  shameless 
faces — worthy  Jills  of  the  ill-favoured  Jacks  who 
cuddled  them — Jehanneton,  the  fair  helm-maker; 
Denise,  Blanche,  Isabeau,  and  Guillemette,  the  land- 
lord's daughter,  who  consorted  gaily  enough  with 
these  brightly-plumaged  birds  of  a  rogue's  paradise. 
But  the  sixth  woman  was  a  bird  of  quite  another 
feather. 

Over  all  the  clatter  this  woman's  voice  rose  sud- 
denly as  clear  as  the  call  of  a  thrush,  and  the  hot 
space  seemed  to  cool  and  the  hot  air  to  clean  as  she 
sang.  She  who  sang  was  a  girl  of  five  and  twenty, 
whom  it  had  pleased  to  clothe  her  ripe  womanhood 
in  a  boy's  habit,  that  clasped  her  fine  body  as  close 
as  a  second  skin,  and  she  might  have  passed  for  a 
man  no  otherwhere  than  in  a  madhouse.  She  looked 
very  charming  in  the  stained  and  faded  daintiness 
of  her  male  attire.  She  wore  a  green  velvet  doublet 

12 


IN   THE  FIRCONE   TAVERN 

and  green  woollen  hose,  with  a  scarlet  girdle  and 
pouch  about  her  waist,  and  a  scarlet  feather  stuck 
defiantly  in  her  green  cap,  beneath  which  her  long 
fair  hair  tumbled  in  liberal  confusion  about  her 
shoulders.  She  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  table  swinging 
one  shapely  leg  loose  and  strained  upon  its  fellow 
while  she  nursed  her  lute  as  if  it  had  been  a  baby, 
and  carolled  as  if  there  were  no  other  work  in  the 
world  to  do  than  to  sing.  The  men  and  women  who 
sat  and  sprawled  around  the  table  kept  quiet,  listen- 
ing to  her  and  staring  at  her;  sleepy  Colin  pricked 
his  ears;  Robin  Turgis  was  alert  to  hear,  for  he  knew 
that  it  was  worth  while  to  listen  when  Huguette  du 
Hamel  chose  to  sing.  Robin  Turgis  knew  all  about 
her.  Her  gentle  blood  was  wild  blood,  and  in  spite 
of  her  birth  and  her  name  she  had  drifted  on  the 
stream  of  strange  pleasure  to  be  the  idol  of  the  Fir- 
cone's shrine.  Her  voice  was  sweet  and  the  tune 
had  a  tender,  appealing  grace,  with  a  little  minor 
wail  in  it  that  brought  tears  into  the  singer's  eyes, 
and  she  mouthed  the  words  as  if  she  found  them 
sweet  as  honey.  And  this  is  what  she  sang: 

"Daughters  of  pleasure,  one  and  all, 

Of  form  and  feature  delicate, 
Of  bodies  slim,  and  bosoms  small, 
iWith  feet  and  fingers  white  and  straight, 

13 


IF   I  WERE   RING 

Your  eyes  are  bright,  your  grace  is  great 
To  hold  your  lovers'  hearts  in  thrall ; 

Use  your  red  lips  before  too  late, 
Love  ere  love  flies  beyond  recall." 

Her  voice  dropped  and  her  fingers  tinkled  over 
the  strings.  Rene'  de  Montigny  turned  his  dark, 
well-featured  face  in  a  sweeping  leer  that  seemed 
to  taste  the  familiar  graces  with  gusto.  "Devilish 
good  advice,  Dollies,"  he  shouted,  and  as  he  spoke 
he  hugged  the  nearest  girl  close  to  him,  and  tilting 
up  her  chin  with  his  free  hand,  kissed  her  noisily. 
The  girl  squealed  a  little  at  his  roughness;  the  other 
pairs  laughed  and  clasped  after  his  example,  only 
the  singer,  unheeding,  lifted  her  sweet  voice  again, 
and  this  time  there  was  a  savour  of  gall  in  the  sweet- 
ness of  the  honey: 

"For  soon  the  golden  hair  is  grey, 

And  all  the  body's  lovely  line 
In  wrinkled  meanness  slipped  astray; 

The  limbs  so  round  and  ripe  and  fine 
Shrivelled  and  withered;  quenched  the  shine 

That  made  your  eyes  as  bright  as  day: 
So,  ladies,  hear  these  words  of  mine, 

Love,  ere  love  flutter  far  away." 

U 


IN   THE   FIRCONE   TAVERN 

The  drift  of  the  music  seemed  sadder  than  before, 
and  there  was  a  little  silence  when  the  last  words 
floated  away  into  the  blackened  rafters,  a  silence 
broken  by  one  of  the  girls. 

"Enne',  that  was  a  sad  song,  Abbess,"  Isabeau 
sighed,  and  her  face  seemed  to  have  paled  beneath  its 
false  colours  and  the  lines  about  her  mouth  and  eyes 
to  have  grown  older  in  surrender  to  inevitable 
thoughts.  She  whom  the  girl  called  Abbess  laughed, 
and  her  mirth  sounded  harshly  after  the  dreamy 
sweetness  of  her  song. 

"Master  Frangois  Villon  made  it  for  me  t'other 
day,"  she  answered.  "  i  You  will  grow  old,  Idol/  he 
said,  '  and  I  make  you  this  song  to  teach  you  true 
things.' " 

Guy  Tabarie,  whose  red  hair  bunched  out  like  lit- 
tle flames  from  the  fiery  sun  of  his  countenance, 
clapped  his  hands  to  the  girl's  waist  and  thrust  his 
face  near  to  hers.  "  Kiss  me  and  forget  it,"  he  hic- 
coughed. The  girl  gave  importunacy  a  little  push 
Which  sent  him  staggering  back  to  his  seat.  "  I  have 
no  kisses  for  any  Jack  of  you  all  but  Frangois,"  she 
said,  while  the  others  roared  at  the  man's  discom- 
fiture. "  Ah,  there  is  no  one  of  you  that  can  write 
songs  like  him,  or  make  one  sad  as  he  can  in  the 
midst  of  gladness." 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

The  girl  whom  purple-coated  Ren6  had  kissed 
so  rudely  shivered  a  little.  "  A  strange  reason  for 
liking  a  man,"  she  whispered,  "that  he  make  you 
Bad."  She  glanced  wistfully  round  at  her  compan- 
ions: to  the  faces  of  the  women  the  influence  of  the 
song  had  lent  an  unwonted  softness,  but  had  brought 
no  touch  of  tenderness  to  those  of  the  men.  Jehan 
le  Loup  banged  his  fist  heavily  on  the  table  in  furious 
protestation  till  the  cans  and  flagons  rattled. 

"Is  this  a  Court  of  Love?"  he  grunted,  baring  his 
yellow  tusks  in  a  swinish  rage.  "There  are  other 
rooms  for  love-making,"  and  he  jerked  his  thumb 
towards  the  roof.  "We  are  here  for  drinking;  we 
are  here  for  dicing;  to  the  devil  with  smocks  and 
sonnets." 

He  jumbled  the  ivories  lustily  as  he  growled  and 
the  familiar  jingle  banished  unfamiliar  fancies.  He 
slapped  the  spotted  cubes  on  the  table  and  as  they 
rolled  into  equilibrium  eager  eyes  counted  them,  and 
fingers  eager  or  reluctant  pinched  or  pushed  at  coins. 
The  spell  of  the  music  was  broken.  The  melodious 
Abbess,  with  eyes  now  glittering  and  tearless,  swung 
her  supple  body  from  table  to  bench,  thrust  herself 
a  place  among  the  players,  shouted  to  Robin  Turgis 
to  bring  more  wine,  and  spreading  some  silver  on 
th*  dingy  board  surrendered  to  speculatior  Nobody, 

0 


IN   THE   FIRCONE   TAVERN 

heeded  the  faint  clink  which  told  that  a  hand 
troubled  the  latch  of  the  street  door;  nobody  heeded 
the  faint  creaking  which  showed  that  it  was  being 
softly  opened;  nobody  heeded  the  man  who  put  his 
head  gently  through  the  opening  and  looked 
thoughtfully  around  him.  The  new-comer  was  a 
grim-visaged  fellow,  somewhere  near  the  edge  of 
middle  age.  He  was  dressed  in  the  sober  habit  of  a 
simple  burgess,  and  he  used  the  long  fold  that  hung 
from  his  cloth  cap  very  dexterously  to  hide  his  face. 
He  peered  into  the  obscurity  of  the  room  with  a 
disquieting  smile  that  deepened  in  its  unpleasing 
expression  as  its  owner  surveyed  the  noisy  fellowship 
in  the  corner,  and  nodded  his  head  as  he  seemed  to 
identify  its  members.  Confident  that  nobody  marked 
him  he  stealthily  entered  the  room,  and  holding  the 
door  ajar,  he  motioned  to  one  who  still  stood  with- 
out to  enter.  The  summons  was  answered  by  the 
entrance  of  another  figure,  capped  and  habited  like 
the  first,  who  slipped  in  swiftly  and  furtively,  and 
made  at  once  for  the  farthest  and  loneliest  angle  of 
the  room  without  looking  to  right  or  left,  while  his 
herald,  after  closing  the  door  as  noiselessly  as  possi- 
ble, followed  quickly  in  his  footsteps.  If  Master 
Robin,  dancing  attendance  upon  his  clamourous  cus- 
tomers, could  have  divined  the  identity  of  the  new- 

17 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

comers  whose  advent  he  regarded  so  indifferently, 
nis  purple  face  would  have  paled  and  his  stomach 
failed  him  at  the  thought  that  the  Fircone  sheltered 
the  baleful  presence  of  the  king  and  of  his  malign 
satellite,  Tristan  FHermite. 

The  two  strangers  seated  themselves  at  a  small 
table  in  the  very  pole  of  the  room  to  the  place  where 
the  Abbess  and  her  friends  were  busy,  and  the  sec- 
ond of  the  pair,  drawing  a  little  apart  the  dark- 
coloured  fold  of  cloth  that  almost  concealed  his  fea- 
tures, looked  around  him  curiously. 

"Is  this  the  eyrie?"  he  whispered,  and  his  com- 
panion answered  him  in  the  same  low  tone,  "This  is 
the  Fircone  Tavern,  sire."  The  other's  finger  was 
lifted  to  his  lip  at  once  in  warning.  "Hush,  gossip, 
hush,"  he  muttered.  "No  title  now,  I  beg  of  you. 
Here  I  am  not  Louis  of  France,  but  a  simple  sober 
citizen  like  yourself.  I  suppose  we  must  take  some- 
thing for  the  good  of  the  house?  "  His  henchman 
promptly  replied  that  such  action  was  indispensable. 
But  Louis  still  looked  doubtful.  "Will  the  liquor 
be  very  detestable,"  he  asked,  inserting  two  thin 
fingers  in  the  black  pouch  at  his  belt.  Tristan  shook 
his  head.  "  Nay,  you  can  get  good  wine  here  if  you 
know  how  to  ask  for  it — and  how  to  pay  for  it." 

"No  one  knows  better  than  I  how  to  ask  for 


18 


IN   THE   FIRCONE   TAVERN 

anything,"  chuckled  the  king.  "  Or  worse,  how  to 
pay  for  it,"  Tristan  sneered.  The  king  scowled  at 
him.  "Then,  why  do  you  keep  my  service?"  he 
snapped.  Tristan  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Some 
dregs  of  devotion,  I  suppose.  Here  stands  Master 
Innkeeper."  For  by  this  time  Robin  Turgis  was  at 
their  elbow,  scanning  them  narrowly  with  his  small, 
pig-like  eyes  that  could  make  little,  however,  of  the 
well -muffled  faces.  He  waited  on  their  order  with 
a  kind  of  ferocious  submission,  draining  his  rank 
forehead  with  a  sweep  of  his  dirty  palm. 

"  Friend,"  said  Louis,  sniffing  sardonically  at  the 
too  odoriferous  personality  of  the  taverner,  "you  be- 
hold here  two  decent  cits  who  have  turned  a  penny; 
or  twain  in  a  bargain,  and  have  a  mind  to  wet  their 
whistles  in  consequence.  Have  you  aught  to  offer 
that  is  good  alike  for  purse  and  palate?  " 

Robin  Turgis  nodded  his  round  head  and  fondled' 
his  round  stomach.  "We  have  a  white  wine  of 
Beaune,"  he  said  unctuously,  as  if  he  were  tasting 
the  wares  he  commended,  "  at  two  sols  the  flagon 
that  is  noble  drinking." 

The  king's  sense  of  economy  shivered  at  the  sum 
as  if  it  had  been  a  wound. 

"Pasques-Dieu!"  he  stammered.  "So  it  should 
be  at  the  price."  Robin  Turgis  remained  unmoved: 

19 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Tristan  clinched  the  business.  "  Bring  it,"  he  said 
decisively,  and  as  the  landlord  shambled  away 
towards  his  cellar,  Tristan  met  the  king's  condemna- 
tory frown  squarely. 

"  I  wear  out  my  hands  and  feet  in  your  service," 
he  said,  "  I  want  to  save  my  throat  and  stomach." 

Louis  made  no  answer  and  was  mournfully  silent 
until  the  obese  landlord  returned  with  the  much- 
vaunted  vintage,  which  he  set  down  on  the  table  with 
a  brace  of  goblets.  Louis  fumbled  with  reluctant 
fingers  in  his  pouch,  extracted  the  exact  amount  nec- 
essary for  payment  and  dropped  it  into  the  fat  paw 
of  Robin  Turgis.  But  Robin  lingered  and  Louis 
looking  at  him  in  surprise  met  the  admonishing 
glare  of  Tristan.  "  Give  him  a  penny  for  himself," 
Tristan  whispered,  and  the  king,  with  an  unwilling- 
ness he  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal,  added  the  de- 
manded drink-money  to  the  other  coins,  and  eyed 
the  departing  back  of  the  landlord  with  well-defined 
aversion.  "You  are  generous  with  other  people's 
pennies,  friend,"  he  snapped  at  his  companion,  but 
Tristan,  paying  no  heed  to  his  querulousness,  filled 
.the  two  cups  with  the  clear  golden  liquid  and  thrust 
one  of  them  under  the  nose  of  the  sulky  monarch. 
Its  fine  dry  fragrance  soothed  Louis;  he  took  a  deep 
Rip  and  was  mollified;  another  and  he  had  forgiven 

20 


IN   THE   FIRCONE   TAVERN 

if  not  forgotten  his  generosity.  He  winked  at  Tris- 
tan amiably  over  the  rim  of  the  goblet.  "  This  is 
seeing  life,  friend  Tristan,"  he  murmured,  content- 
edly, stretching  his  thin  legs  in  delicious  ease.  But 
Tristan  was  in  no  holiday  humour. 

"Let's  hope  it  mayn't  be  seeing  death,  friend 
Louis,"  he  snorted.  "  There  are  a  couple  of  rogues 
in  that  covey  who  would  spit  you  or  split  you  or  slit 
you  for  the  price  of  a  drink." 

Louis  laughed  affably.  "And  no  such  cheap 
bargain,"  he  commented,  "seeing  what  wine  costs 
here.  But  this  is  an  interesting  business." 

Tristan  would  concede  nothing  to  the  king's  good- 
humour.  "  Where's  the  interest?  "  he  asked.  "  A' 
few  bullies,  bawds  and  bonarobas  boozing  together. 
You  can  keep  the  same  company  at  court — only  a 
shade  cleaner — and  not  be  out  of  pocket  for  the 
privilege  either." 

The  king's  mouth  puckered  in  appreciation  of 
some  memory.  He  leaned  forward  and  touched  Tris- 
tan's sleeve. 

"  Gossip  Tristan,  there  is  at  my  court  a  scholar 
who  told  me  an  Eastern  tale." 

"  Pray  God  it  be  a  gay  one  such  as  your  majesty 
loves." 

"Hush,  man;  no  'Majesty'  here.      'Tis  of  am 

23 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Eastern  King,  one  Haroun,  surnamed,  as  I  shall  be 
surnamed,  The  Just." 

Tristan  grunted  sceptically,  but  Louis,  ignoring 
the  ejaculation,  went  on. 

"  It  was  his  pastime  to  go  about  Bagdad  of  nights 
in  disguise,  and  mingling  with  his  people  learn  much 
to  the  advantage  of  the  realm.  I  am  following  his 
example,  and  I  expect  to  learn  much  in  my  turn." 

Tristan  looked  pityingly  at  the  complacent  king. 
"You  are  likely  to  learn  how  unpopular  you  are, 
which  I  could  have  told  you  without  this  trouble; 
and  you  will  be  lucky  if  you  do  not  get  your  throat 
cut  into  the  bargain." 

Something  almost  like  a  smile  disturbed  the  famil- 
iar composure  of  the  king's  wrinkles.  He  took 
another  sip  of  the  wine  and  his  affability  expanded. 
"  You  are  always  a  bird  of  evil  omen,"  he  chirped. 
"Be  bright,  man;  look  at  me.  The  Burgundian 
Leaguer  is  at  my  gates;  my  throne  sways  like  a  rock- 
ing-chair, yet  I  don't  pull  a  sad  face." 

"It's  a  good  thing  that  somebody  is  pleased," 
Tristan  commented.  "  Yes,"  said  Louis,  opening  out 
his  thin  hands  and  studying  their  palms  attentively, 
u  I  am  pleased -"  Tristan  interrupted  him  rough- 
ly. "  Pleased  that  the  Burgundians  threaten  you 
outside  the  walls  of  Paris;  pleased  that  Thibaut 

22 


IN   THE   FIRCONE   TAVERN 

d'Aussigny  bullies  you  inside  the  walls  of  Paris; 
pleased  that  your  soldiers  are  mutinous;  pleased 
that  your  citizens  are  sullen;  by  my  faith,  here  are 
four  royal  reasons  for  a  royal  pleasure." 

Louis  shook  his  head  playfully  at  his  servant's 
grumbling.  "  Gossip  Tristan,"  he  asked,  "  do  you 
know  why  I  have  come  to  this  hovel  to-night?  I  do 
not  walk  abroad  like  a  king-errant  in  mere  idleness 
of  mind.  I  have  come  to  learn  what  company  my  lord 
the  Grand  Constable  keeps."  Tristan's  shaggy  eye- 
brows arched  in  surprise  as  the  king  continued:  "Our 
good  Olivier  assures  us  that  our  dear  Thibaut  d'Aus- 
signy has  taken  it  into  his  head  of  late  to  walk  the 
streets  by  night  and  to  haunt  strange  taverns  such 
as  this  same  Fircone.  I  am  plagued  with  a  woman- 
ish curiosity,  Tristan,  and  I  thought  I  would  peep 
over  Messire  Thibaut's  shoulder  and  have  an  eye  on 
his  cards." 

Tristan  chuckled.  "The  Grand  Constable  bears 
you  a  grudge  since  you  chose  to  turn  a  kind  eye  on 
the  girl  of  Vaucelles." 

"  She  was  a  wise  virgin  to  dislike  Thibaut,"  mused 
the  king,  "  Was  she  a  foolish  virgin  to  mistrust 
your  majesty?  "  questioned  Trista'n.  Louis  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "  She  is  a  proud  piece,  gossip.  When 
I  told  her  that  she  took  my  fancy  she  flamed  into  a 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

red  rage  that  chastened  me.  But  if  she's  not  for 
me  she's  not  for  Thibaut  either."  "The  Grand 
Constable  is  a  bad  enemy,"  Tristan  commented.  The 
king  replied  at  random. 

"Tristan,  I  had  a  strange  dream  last  night  I 
dreamed  that  I  was  a  swine  rooting  in  the  streets 
of  Paris,  and  that  I  found  a  pearl  of  great  price  in 
the  kennel.  I  picked  it  up  and  set  it  in  my  crown — " 

"  A  crowned  pig,"  Tristan  interrupted.  "  'Tis  like 
a  tavern  sign."  Louis  did  not  seem  to  resent  the 
interruption. 

"  My  good  gossip,  in  a  dream  nothing  seems 
strange.  Well,  as  I  said,  I  set  this  pearl  in  my  crown 
and  the  light  of  it  seemed  to  fill  all  my  good  city  of 
Paris  with  glory  so  that  I  could  see  every  street 
and  alley,  every  tower  and  pinnacle,  more  clearly 
than  in  a  summer's  noon.  And  then  meiuought  that 
the  pearl  weighed  so  heavy  upon  my  forehead  that 
I  plucked  it  from  its  place  and  cast  it  to  the  ground, 
and  would  have  trodden  it  under  foot  when  a  star 
shot  swiftly  from  Heaven  and  stayed  me." 

The  king  looked  eagerly  at  his  companion,  who 
seemed  wholly  uninterested  in  the  narrative  of 
the  royal  vision.  "Dreams  and  stars,  stars  and 
dreams,"  he  sneered.  "  Leave  dreams  to  weaklings, 
sire."  Louis  frowned.  "Don't  sneer,  gossip,  but 

24 


IN  THE   FIRCONE   TAVERN 

instruct — who  are  these  people?"  and  the  sharp,  lean 
face  of  the  king  thrust  itself  forward  a  little,  bird- 
like,  from  the  nest  of  its  hood,  in  the  direction  of  the 
gamblers.  His  companion  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Some  of  the  worst  cats  and  rats  in  all  Paris,"  he 
answered.  "  The  men  belong  to  a  fellowship  that 
is  called  the  Company  of  the  Cockleshells,  and  bab- 
ble a  cant  of  their  own  that  baffles  the  thief-takers. 

If  your  majesty "  but  here  a  warning  kick  from 

Louis  made  him  wince  and  change  his  words — "if 
you  wished  to  savour  rascality  these  are  your  blades. 
The  women  are  trulls.  Yonder  she-thing  in  the 
man's  habit  is  Huguette  du  Hamel,  a  wild  wench, 
whom  men  call  the  Abbess  for  her  nunnery  of  light 
o'  loves.  There  be  four  of  her  minions  with  her  now, 
Jehanneton  la  belle  HeaulmiSre  as  they  name  her, 
Denise  the  slipper-maker,  Blanche  and  Isabeau. 
Oh,  they  are  delectable  doxies! " 

King  Louis  pursed  his  thin  lips  in  austere  censure. 
"  They  shall  be  reproved  hereafter,"  he  said.  "  Who 
are  the  men?  " 

"  Worthy  Adams  of  such  pestilent  Eves,"  Tristan 
answered.  "That  slender  fellow  in  the  purple 
jerkin  is  one  Rene'  de  Montigny,  of  gentle  birth,  and 
a  great  breaker  of  commandments.  He  with  the  red 
hair  is  Guy  Tabarie;  they  are  sworn  brothers  in 

25 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

bawdry  and  larceny.  The  ferret-faced  knave  who 
is  tickling  the  girl's  knee  is  Jehan  le  Loup.  Bullies 
and  bawds,  pandars  and  parasites:  to  enumerate 
their  offenses  would  be  to  say  the  Decalogue  back- 
ward." 

"You  have  a  pithy  humour,  gossip,"  and  Louis 
grinned.  "  Our  gallows  shall  be  busy  anon." 

Tristan  was  about  to  open  his  mouth  in  approval 
of  a  sentiment  so  pleasing  to  his  ears  when  his  words 
and  his  purpose  were  alike  arrested  by  a  sound  of  a 
voice  singing  outside  the  tavern  door. 

The  voice  was  a  man's  voice,  something  rough  and 
strained  for  fine  music,  and  yet  with  a  kind  of  full 
and  florid  sweetness  that  carried  the  words  clearly 
through  the  red-curtained  windows.  They  seemed 
to  make  a  complaint  of  Fortune: 

"  Since  I  have  left  the  prison  gate 
Where  I  came  near  to  say  good-bye 

To  this  poor  life  that  needs  must  fly 
From  the  malignity  of  Fate, 

Perchance  she  now  will  pass  me  by 
Since  I  have  left  the  prison  gate." 

If  the  king  pricked  his  ear  to  listen,  and  even  Tris- 
tan moved  a  little  in  his  lethargy,  the  effect  of  the 

26 


IN   THE  FIRCONE   TAVERN 

song  upon  the  company  of  gamblers  was  instant  and 
pronounced.  The  Abbess  leaped  to  her  feet,  crying 
out:  "  It  is  the  voice  of  Frangois!  "  "  It  is  indeed 
his  own  unutterable  pipe,"  agreed  Rene'  de  Montigny, 
sweeping  his  winnings  into  his  pouch.  Robin  Turgis 
raised  his  hands  in  a  comical  despair  as  he  muttered: 
"  Here  is  the  devil  out  of  hell  again."  All  the  men 
and  women  were  looking  eagerly  at  the  door. 

"  Who  is  this?  "  asked  Louis  of  Tristan,  "  whose 
coming  seems  so  to  flutter  these  night-birds?  " 

"The  strangest  knave  in  all  Paris,"  Tristan  an- 
swered. "  One  Fran$ois  Villon,  scholar,  poet, 
drinker,  sworder,  drabber,  blabber,  good  at  pen, 
point,  and  pitcher.  In  the  Court  of  Miracles  they 
call  him  the  King  of  the  Cockleshells.  Judge  him 
for  yourself." 


27 


CHAPTER  H 
MASTER  FRANCOIS   VILLON 

As  Tristan  spoke  the  tavern  latch  rattled,  the 
tavern  door  was  flung  noisily  open,  and  the  king's 
gaze  rested  on  a  strange  figure  framed  in  the  entry. 
The  man  was  of  middle  height,  spare  and  slight  and 
lean;  his  thin,  eager  face  was  bronzed  with  the  suns 
and  winds  of  a  generation,  and  lined  with  the  stern 
ciphers  of  malign  experiences.  His  dark,  straight 
hair  was  long  and  unkempt;  the  finer  lines  of  his 
cheeks  and  chin  were  blurred  with  the  uncropped 
growth  of  a  week-old  beard;  his  eyes  were  bright  and 
quick;  his  glance  restless  and  comprehensive.  A] 
cunning  reader  of  features  would  have  found  a  home 
for  high  thoughts  behind  the  fine  forehead,  the  lines 
of  infinite  tenderness  upon  the  mobile  lips,  the  light 
of  some  noble  conflagration  in  the  wild  eyes.  He 
was  dressed  in  faded  finery  of  many  colours,  so 
ragged  and  patched  and  hostile  that  he  had  very 
much  the  air  of  a  gaudy  scarecrow.  His  ruined  cloak 
was  tilted  by  a  long  sword;  his  disordered  thatch  was 
crowned  by  a  battered  cap  grotesquely  adorned  with 
a  cock's  feather.  In  his  leathern  belt  a  small  vellum 
bound  book  of  verses  kept  company  with  a  dagger. 

28 


MASTER   FRANCOIS   VILLON 

For  all  his  whimsical  appearance  the  king's  keen 
eyes  could  note  a  something  gallant  in  the  carriage 
of  the  scamp,  could  spy  out  qualities  of  manhood  be- 
neath the  battered  bravery.  He  poised  for  a  moment 
on  the  threshold  in  a  fantastic  attitude  of  salutation 
ere  he  slammed  the  door  behind  him  and  strode  for- 
ward to  meet  his  friends. 

"Well,  Hearts  of  Gold,  how  are  ye?"  he  cried 
joyously  as  he  advanced  with  head  thrown  back  and 
open  hands  extended.  "  Did  ye  miss  me,  lads;  did  ye 
miss  me,  lasses?  " 

Abbess  Huguette  was  at  his  side  in  an  instant, 
with  her  arms  about  his  neck  fondling  him  and  fawn- 
ing upon  him.  "  Surely  I  missed  you,"  she  whispered. 
"  Where  have  you  been,  little  monkey?  " 

Master  Frangois  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  with 
a  curious  pity.  Then  gently  extricating  himself  from 
her  embrace  he  called  out,  "  Give  me  a  wash  of  wine 
for  my  throat's  parched  with  piping." 

Every  man  thrust  his  own  mug  towards  Master 
Francois,  beseeching  him  to  drink  of  it,  but  he  waved 
them  all  aside  imperially.  "Nay,  I  will  have  my 
own,"  he  said.  "  Have  we  no  landlord  here?  Master 
Robin,  come  hither." 

Robin  Turgis,  who  had  kept  apart  up  to  now,  sur- 
veying the  new-comer  with  no  excess  of  favour, 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

moved  slowly  forward  with  his  thumbs  in  his  girdle 
and  a  sour  smile  on  his  fat  cheeks.  Master  Fran- 
gois  addressed  him  sternly,  twitching  as  he  did  so 
the  landlord's  greasy  cap  from  his  pate  and  sending 
it  flying  down  the  room.  "  Why  do  you  not  salute 
gentry  when  they  honour  your  pot-house?  A  mug 
of  your  best  Beaune,  Master  Beggar-maker,  to  drink 
damnation  to  the  Burgundians." 

Robin  Turgis  made  no  motion  to  obey,  but  his 
small  eyes  seemed  to  grow  smaller  as  they  stared. 
"  What  colour  has  money  now-a-days,  Master  Fran- 
gois?  "  he  asked  doggedly.  In  a  moment  the  brown, 
dirty  hand  of  the  poet  was  clapped  to  his  dagger 
and  there  was  something  of  a  wolfish  snarl  in  his 
voice  as  he  answered  menacingly,  "  The  colour  of 
blood  sometimes."  But  the  landlord,  unabashed  and 
undismayed,  stood  his  ground. 

"  None  of  your  swaggering,  Master  Frangois,"  he 
said  sturdily.  "  There  is  such  a  thing  as  a  king  in 
France  and  that  king's  name  is  writ  fair  on  his  coin- 
age. Show  me  a  Louis  XI.  and  I  will  show  you  my 
Beaune  wine." 

The  face  of  Master  Frangois  flushed  under  its 
grime,  and  he  fiddled  at  his  dagger  nervously,  as  one 
uncertain  whether  to  laugh  or  cry  at  the  dilemma 
which  confronted  him.  Huguette  and  Montigny 

30 


MASTER   FRANCOIS   VILLON 

alike  had  dipped  their  hands  into  their  pouches  for 
money  to  pay  the  poet's  score  when  to  the  amaze- 
ment of  Tristan  the  king  forestalled  their  kindnesses. 
Rising  to  his  feet  with  creditable  alacrity  he  ad- 
vanced towards  Master  Francois  and  saluted  him 
with  a  gracious  wave  of  the  hand.  "  Will  you  let  me 
be  of  some  small  service  to  you,"  he  began  politely, 
and  as  Villon  turned  to  stare  at  him  in  surprise  he 
continued:  "Will  you  honour  me  by  drinking  that 
Beaune  wine  our  host  brags  of  at  my  expense?  " 

Villon's  astonishment  had  not  unnerved  his  clutch 
at  opportunity.  Here  was  a  god  out  of  a  machine, 
proffering  cool  liquor  to  dry  gullets.  Master 
Frangois  gave  back  the  salutation  with  a  mien  of 
splendid  condescension,  while  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany glared  at  the  burgess  who  thus  thrust  himself 
upon  them,  and  Tristan,  cursing  the  king  for  his 
temerity,  felt  for  a  hidden  dagger. 

Villon's  patronizing  wave  of  the  hand  was  mag- 
nificent in  its  effrontery,  and  his  words  matched  his 
gesture  nobly. 

"  You  are  a  civil  stranger,  and  I  will  so  far  honour 
you."  Louis  bowed.  "  I  left  my  purse  under  my  pil- 
low this  morning  " — a  roar  of  laughter  saluted  the 
ancient  jape — "and  this  ungentle  fellow  denies 
me  credit.  How  rarely  we  meet  with  an  ale-draper 
who  is  also  a  gentleman." 

31 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

With  an  unmoved  countenance  Louis  listened  to 
Villon's  words.  "  Yet  the  sale  of  a  thing  so  noble 
ought  to  beget  a  kind  of  nobility  in  the  vendor,"  he 
said  with  great  gravity;  then  turning  to  Robin  Tur- 
gis,  whose  mouth  was  gaping  at  this  colloquy,  he 
bade  him  bring  a  flagon  of  his  best,  and  as  he  did 
so  he  tendered  him  a  silver  coin  for  which  Robin 
extended  his  fat  fingers — and  extended  them  too  late. 
For  at  the  sight  of  the  silver  the  eyes  of  Master  Fran- 
§ois  had  glistened,  and  his  lean,  brown  hand,  swift 
and  agile  as  a  hawk,  had  swooped  between  the  king 
and  the  publican,  and  had  secured  the  coin,  which 
he  promptly  held  up  and  surveyed  in  an  apparent 
ecstasy  of  admiration. 

"  Is  this  the  good  king's  counter?  "  he  asked,  and 
as  he  did  so  he  plucked  off  his  shabby  bonnet  and 
paid  the  exalted  coin  a  profound  obeisance.  "  Well, 
God  bless  his  majesty,  say  I,  for  I  owe  him  my  pres- 
ent liberty.  There  was  a  gaol-clearing  when  he  came 
to  Paris,  and  as  I  happened  to  be  in  gaol  at  the 
time — through  an  error  of  the  law  " — here  he  paused 
to  leer  knowingly  at  his  comrades,  who  yelled  com- 
mendation— "  they  were  good  enough  to  kick  me  into 
the  free  air.  Will  you  add  to  your  kindness,  old 
gentleman  " — and  here  Master  Frangois  spun  round 
and  solemnly  saluted  his  unknown  entertainer — "  bj 

32 


MASTER   FRANCOIS   VILLON 

allowing  me  to  guard  and  cherish  this  token  of  our 
dear  monarch  in  memory  of  this  notable  event?  " 

Louis'  fortitude  could  not  prevent  him  from  mak- 
ing something  of  a  wry  face  as  he  hastily  answered, 
"  By  all  means."  He  beckoned  discreetly  to  Robin 
Turgis,  who,  making  a  wide  circle  round  Master 
Frangois,  stole  to  the  king's  side,  received  from  him 
another  coin  and  hastened  away  to  bring  the  drink 
it  paid  for. 

From  his  corner  Tristan  surveyed  the  episode  with 
a  grim  enjoyment.  "  Master  Villon,  Master  Villon," 
he  murmured  to  himself,  "you'll  be  sorry  for  this, 
very  sorry  indeed."  And  in  his  mind's  eye  he  trans- 
ferred the  fantastic  figure,  posturing  and  grimacing 
before  Louis,  to  the  end  of  a  long  rope  hanging  from 
a  high  gallows.  Master  Frangois,  ignorant  of  the 
immediate  irony  of  existence,  wafted  a  kiss  airily 
from  the  tips  of  his  fingers  to  his  patron.  "  You  are 
a  very  obliging  old  gentleman,"  he  said  approvingly. 

Louis  frowned  slightly.  "You  harp  on  my  age, 
sir,"  he  said.  "Yet  you  are  yourself  no  chicken." 
This  mild  reproof  seemed  to  irritate  Villon's  friends 
more  than  it  irritated  Villon.  The  men  manifested 
a  marked  inclination  to  hustle  so  questioning  a  citi- 
zen ;  the  women  cackled  at  him  angrily.  Casin  Cholet 
bluntly  proposed  to  lend  the  cit  a  slap  on  the  chops; 

33 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

and  Huguette  enquired  with  every  emphasis  of  im- 
politeness: "What's  his  age  to  you,  sobersides?" 
But  Villon  quietly  waved  his  turbulent  companions 
into  tranquility.  "  Patience,  damsels,"  he  said 
blandly.  "  Patience,  good  comrades  of  the  Cockle- 
shell. If  our  friend  is  inquisitive  at  least  he  has 
paid  his  fee,"  and  as  he  spoke  he  hid  his  face  for  a 
moment  behind  the  huge  mug  of  Beaune  wine  which 
Robin  Turgis  at  that  moment  handed  to  him.  Much 
refreshed  by  his  mighty  draught  he  resumed  briskly: 
"  For  three  and  thirty  years  I  have  taken  toll  of  life 
with  such  result  as  you  see.  A  light  pocket  is  a 
plague,  but  a  light  heart  and  a  light  love  make 
amends  for  much."  And  as  he  spoke  he  slapped  his 
pocket  whose  emptiness  gave  back  no  jingle, 
drummed  lightly  on  his  bosom  and  nodded  gallantly 
to  the  admiring  womenkind.  "You  are  a  philos- 
opher," said  the  king.  "You  are  a  little  angel," 
cried  the  Abbess,  flinging  her  arms  round  the  poet 
in  an  enthusiastic  hug.  The  girl's  homage  seemed 
little  to  Villon's  taste,  for  he  disengaged  himself 
swiftly  from  the  embrace,  saying  as  he  did  so: 
"Gently,  Abbess,  gently!  My  shoulders  tingle  and 
my  sides  ache  too  sorely  for  claspings." 

Villon's  manner  was  so  decisive  and  his  meaning 
so  obvious  that  the  curiosity  of  the  gang  burned 

34 


MASTER   FRANCOIS   VILLON 

keenly  and  found  voice  in  Rene'  de  Montigny,  who 
asked  what  ailed  him  with  commendable  solicitude. 
Villon  shook  his  head,  applied  himself  again  to  the 
cannakin,  and  emerged  from  it  with  a  most  melan- 
choly expression  of  countenance.  "You  behold  in 
me,  friends,"  he  sighed,  "  a  victim  of  love,"  and  his 
visage  showed  so  lugubrious  that  it  sorely  tempted 
Louis  to  laugh,  and  hotly  moved  Huguette  to  anger, 
for  she  raged  up  to  Villon,  challenging  the  meaning 
of  his  speech.  Villon  gently  cooled  her  impatience. 
"Hush,  hush,  my  girl!  There  are  many  kinds  of 
love,  as  you  ought  to  know  well  enough.  I  am  a 
rogue  and  a  vagabond,  no  less,  and  so  sometimes  I 
love  you  and  other  such  Athanasian  wenches;  Isa- 
beau  there  and  Jehanneton." 

At  this  mention  of  her  novices'  names  the  Abbess 
turned  on  the  two  girls  fiercely.  "  You  minxes,"  she 
cried.  "  Do  you  make  eyes  at  my  man?  "  The  pair 
shrank  back  from  her  fury,  but  Master  Villon,  who 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  fallen  into  a  meditative 
mood,  rambled  on  in  a  kind  of  reverie,  as  indifferent 
to  the  Fircone  and  all  his  surroundings  as  if  he  were 
a  lonely  shepherd  tending  his  sheep  on  a  lonely  hill- 
side. 

"  But  also  I  am,  Heaven  forgive  me,  a  jingler  of 
rhymes,  with  the  stars  for  my  candles  and  tbe  roses 

35 


IF  1  WERE   KiJNG 

for  my  toys,  and  singers  of  songs  sometimes  love  in 
another  fashion.  And  so  it  has  chanced  to  me  for 
my  sins  and  to  my  sorrow." 

.Villon's  chin  had  dropped  upon  his  breast;  the 
cock's  feather  drooped  dismally;  the  singer  seemed 
Quite  chapfallen.  Huguette,  tired  of  glaring  at  her 
offending  minions;  again  turned  her  scornful  atten- 
tion to  her  dejected  lover.  "  Cry-baby!  "  she  sneered 
scornfully,  pointing  with  derisive  finger  at  Master 
Francois,  in  whose  eyes  indeed  the  close  observer 
could  discern  the  threatening  of  tears.  Jehanneton 
came  sidling  round  to  Villon,  piqued  by  natural  curi- 
osity, and  the  desire  to  vex  Huguette.  "  Tell  us  your 
love-tale,  Francois,"  she  pleaded,  and  her  pleading 
found  an  immediate  supporter  in  Louis.  The 
Arabian  nature  of  his  adventure  enchanted  him,  and 
he  had  a  child's  taste  for  a  story.  "  May  I  support 
the  lady's  prayer,"  he  said,  "unless  a  stranger's 
presence  distresses  you?  " 

Villon  turned  to  him  with  a  mocking  laugh. 
"Lord  love  you,  no,"  he  answered.  "I  have  long 
since  forgotten  reticence  and  will  discourse  of  my 
empty  purse,  my  empty  belly,  and  my  empty  heart  to 
any  man.  Gather  around  me,  cullions  and  cut- 
purses,  and  listen  to  the  strange  adventure  of  Master 
Frangois  Villon,  clerk  of  Paris." 

Joyous  applause  greeted  his  speech.  Jehan  le  Loup, 

36 


MASTER   FRANCOIS  VILLON 

seizing  upon  an  empty  barrel  that  stood  in  a  corner, 
trundled  it  forward,  and  standing  it  on  one  end  in- 
vited Villon  to  take  his  seat  upon  this  whimsical 
throne.  The  poet  sprang  lightly  upon  the  perch  thus 
provided  for  him,  and  sat  there  with  his  legs  crossed, 
holding  his  long  sword  against  his  knees  with  both 
hands.  The  men  and  women  gathered  about  him, 
like  bees  about  a  rose-bush.  Huguette  placed  herself 
on  a  stool  at  his  feet.  Jehanneton  flung  herself  full 
length  on  the  ground  and  stared  up  into  his  face. 
Robin  Turgis  straddled  a  bench  at  some  distance 
and  grinned.  Louis  seized  the  opportunity  to  whis- 
per behind  his  hand  to  Tristan  that  he  found  the 
fellow  diverting,  to  which  Tristan  replied  gruffly 
that  he  for  his  part  found  him  a  dull  ape.  Louis 
might  have  argued  the  point  but  his  interest  was 
claimed  by  the  voice  of  Villon,  who,  being  com- 
fortably installed  on  his  wine-cask,  was  beginning 
his  promised  narrative.  A  philosopher  would  have 
discerned  something  pathetic  in  the  picture  of  the 
ragged  rascal  thus  girdled  about  with  blackguards 
of  a  baser  sort,  his  lean  body  quivering,  his  eager 
face  alive  with  emotions,  mockery  on  his  lips  and 
sorrow  in  his  eyes:  to  the  sardonic  king  it  afforded 
nothing  more  and  nothing  less  than  amusement. 
"You  must  know,  dear  Devils  and  ever-beautiful 

3Z 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Blowens,  that  three  days  ago,  when  I  was  lying  in 
the  kennel,  which  is  my  humour,  and  staring  at  the 
sky,  which  is  my  recreation — I  speak,  honest  citizen, 
but  in  parable  or  allegory,  a  dear  device  with  the 
schoolmen — I  saw  between  me  and  Heaven  the  face 
of  a  lady,  the  loveliest  face  I  ever  saw." 

Here  the  poor  Abbess,  indignation  overcrowding 
her  borrowed  mannishness,  began  to  sniffle  and  to 
assert  that  the  speaker  was  a  faithless  pig,  but  Vil- 
lon, unheeding  her  whimpers,  went  on  with  his  tale. 

"  She  was  going  to  church — God  shield  her — but 
she  looked  my  way  as  she  passed,  and  though  she 
saw  me  no  more  than  she  saw  the  cobble-stone  I 
stood  on,  I  saw  her  once  and  for  ever.  We  song- 
chandlers  babble  a  deal  of  love,  but  for  the  most 
part  we  know  little  or  nothing  about  it,  and  when 
it  comes  it  knocks  us  silly.  I  was  knocked  so  silly 
that — well,  what  do  you  think  was  the  silly  thing 
I  did?" 

Villon  turned  his  alert  face  to  each  member  of  his 
audience,  and  his  derisive  mouth  belied  the  sadness 
of  his  eyes. 

"  Emptied  a  can  for  oblivion,"  Montigny  suggested. 
Blanche  was  no  less  practical. 

"  Kissed  a  wench  for  the  same  purpose,"  she  cried. 
"  The  times  that  I've  been  wooed  out  of  my  name! " 

38 


MASTER   FRANCOIS  VILLON 

"  Picked  the  woman's  pocket,"Casin  Cholet  hinted, 
wagging  his  shock  head  wisely,  while  Jehan  le  Loup, 
with  a  hideous  leer,  sniggered :  "  Got  near  her  in  the 
crowd  and  pinched  her,"  and  suited  the  action  to 
the  word  with  finger  and  thumb  on  Blanche's  plump 
shoulder. 

Master  Frangois  dissipated  all  this  roguish  phi- 
losophy with  a  contemptuous  gesture. 

"  La,  la,  la,"  he  chirruped.  "  Sillier  than  all  these. 
I  followed  her  into  the  church." 

The  silence  of  astonishment  fell  upon  the  audience. 
Only  Colin  de  Cayeulx  had  sufficient  presence  of 
mind  to  formulate  his  amazement  in  a  prolonged 
whistle.  Louis  crossed  himself  repeatedly  under  his 
gown.  "  You  are  not  a  church-goer,  sir?  "  he  ques- 
tioned sourly.  Villon  answered  him  sweetly. 

"  No,  old  Queernabs,  unless  there's  an  alms-box 
to  open  or  a  matter  of  gold  plate  to  pilfer."  Guy 
Tabarie  hurriedly  interrupted  him  with  a  warning 
cry  of  "  Cave!  "  and  a  significant  glance  at  the  stran- 
gers, but  Villon  derided  his  fears. 

"  Nonsense,"  he  cried,  leaning  forward  and  play- 
fully slapping  Louis  on  the  back  with  his  sword. 
"  This  good  Cuffin  has  a  friendly  face  and  can  take  a 
joke.  Can't  you,  old  rabbit?  " 

Louis  winced  and  then  grinned  as  Tristan  gasped 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

in  anger.  "  I  thank  Heaven  I  have  a  sense  or 
humour,"  he  said,  with  a  sly  glance  at  his  compan- 
ion. Villon  went  on  with  his  story. 

"  Well,  I  sprawled  there  in  the  dark,  with  my 
knees  on  the  cold  ground,  and  all  the  while  the 
sound  of  her  beauty  was  sweet  in  my  ears,  and  the 
taste  of  her  beauty  was  salt  on  my  lips,  and  the  pain 
of  her  beauty  wras  gnawing  at  my  heart,  and  I  prayed 
that  I  might  see  her  again." 

At  this  point  Huguette,  who  had  been  following 
the  narrative  with  a  feline  ferocity,  caught  up  a 
wine-jug  and  made  to  throw  it  at  the  poet's  head, 
but  was  dexterously  disarmed  by  Guy  Tabarie  be- 
fore the  vessel  had  time  to  quit  her  fingers.  Sulkily 
she  plumped  herself  down  on  her  stool  again,  while 
Villon,  quite  unconscious  of  the  averted  peril,  ram- 
bled on  dreamily. 

u  And  the  incense  tickled  my  nostrils  and  the 
painted  saints  sneered  at  me,  and  bits  of  rhymes  and 
bits  of  prayers  jigged  in  my  brain  and  I  felt  as  if  I 
were  drunk  with  some  new  and  delectable  liquor. 
And  then  she  slipped  out  and  I  after  her.  She  took 
the  Holy  Water  from  my  fingers." 

Villon's  voice  sank  reverently  and  Huguette  took 
advantage  of  the  pause. 

"I  wish  it  had  burned  you  to  the  bone,"  she 

40 


MASTER   FRANCOIS  VILLON 

interrupted  spitefully.  Master  Villon  shook  his 
head. 

"  It  burned  deeper  than  that,  believe  me.  Outside, 
on  God's  steps,  stood  a  yellow-haired,  pink-faced 
puppet  who  greeted  her  and  they  ainbled  away  to- 
gether, I  on  their  heels.  Presently  they  came  to  a 
gateway  and  in  slips  my  quarry,  and  as  she  did  so 
she  turned  to  her  squire  and  I  saw  her  face  again 
and  lost  it,  for  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes."  With 
a  heavy  sigh  he  turned  to  Louis.  "  I  suppose  you 
wonder  why  I  talk  like  this,  but  when  my  heart's  in 
my  mouth  I  must  spit  it  out  or  it  chokes  me." 

"  I  have  learned  to  wonder  at  nothing,"  Louis  an- 
swered sagely.  Villon  picked  up  the  dropped  thread 
of  his  tale. 

"  I  saluted  the  gallant  and  begged  to  know  the 
lady's  name.  He  took  me  for  a  madman,  but  he  told 
me." 

In  a  second  Huguette  was  on  her  legs  again  and 
nestling  her  eager  face  close  to  that  of  Villon  ai 
she  whispered  coaxingly: 

"  What  was  the  lady's  name,  dear  Frangois?  " 

Master  Frangois  looked  into  her  watchful  eyes 
with  a  wise  smile. 

"  Be  secret,  sweet,"  he  murmured.  "  It  was  Her 
Majesty,  the  Queen."  A  wild  roar  of  laughter  from 

141 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

Villon's  friends  greeted  this  sally,  and  the  fury  it 
brought  to  Huguette's  face.  Louis,  royally  angered, 
made  as  if  to  rise  in  protest,  but  the  heavy  hand  of 
Tristan  fell  on  his  shoulder  and  restrained  him,  and 
Villon,  noticing  his  irritation,  waved  him  down  with 
a  pacifying  gesture. 

"  Now,  now,  my  rum  duke,"  he  cried,  "your  loyalty 
need  not  take  fire.  It  was  not  her  majesty,  but  her 
name  I  shall  keep  to  myself,  though  it  is  written  on 
my  shoulders  in  fair  large  blue  and  black  bruises." 

This  statement  stirred  a  murmur  of  surprise  in 
the  gathering.  "  Did  the  pink  and  gold  popinjay 
beat  you?  "  Monti gny  asked,  interpreting  the  gen- 
eral curiosity. 

"  No,  no,"  Villon  answered.  "  It  came  about  thus. 
We  tinkers  of  verses  set  a  price  on  our  wares  that 
few  find  them  worth,  yet  with  the  love-fever  in  my 
veins  I  wrote  rhymes  to  this  lady  and  sent  them  to 
her  fairly  writ  on  a  piece  of  parchment  that  cost  me 
a  dinner." 

"  Did  you  think  she  would  come  to  your  whistle 
like  a  bird  to  a  lure?"  Louis  enquired  playfully. 
Villon  sighed  again. 

"  In  this  kind  of  madness  a  minstrel  thinks  him- 
self a  new  Orpheus  who  could  win  a  woman  out  of 
hell  with  his  music.  But  I  got  my  answer — oh,  I 
got  my  answer." 

42 


MASTER  FRANCOIS  VILLOIV 

He  dropped  suddenly  into  a  moody  silence,  which 
was  not  to  the  taste  of  the  fellowship  who  were 
interested  in  the  adventure.  Montigny,  leaning  for- 
ward, gave  Villon  a  clap  on  the  back  which  made 
him  shrink,  and  shouted  "What  was  the  answer?  " 

Villon  began  to  laugh,  a  loud,  mirthless  laugh 
that  had  no  human  warmth  in  it. 

"  A  fellow  like  a  page  boarded  me  here  three 
days  ago.  He  asked  me  if  I  had  sent  certain  verses 
to  a  certain  quarter.  If  so  I  was  to  follow  him  at 
once.  I  followed  like  a  sheep  with  my  heart  drum- 
ming till  we  came  to  a  quiet  place,  and  there  four 
boobies  with  yard-long  cudgels  fell  upon  me.  I  was 
taken  unawares,  I  had  no  weapon  but  my  jack- 
dagger,  the  blows  were  raining  upon  me  as  fast  as 
acorns  fly  in  a  high  wind,  so  I  thought  it  no  shame  to 
take  to  my  heels.  The  varlets  pursued  me,  full  cry, 
till  I  led  them  to  a  part  of  Paris  where  their  lives 
would  not  have  been  worth  a  minute's  purchase  and 
they  had  to  stay  their  chase.  But  I  have  been  rarely 
drubbed  and  roundly  basted,  and  my  poor  back  and 
sides  are  most  womanishly  tender.  I  go  abroad  no 
more  without  Excalibur."  He  tapped  his  sword  hilt 
as  he  spoke.  Huguette  glared  fiercely  up  at  him. 

"Will  it  teach  you  not  to  play  the  fool  again?" 
she  asked,  with  a  vicious  snap  of  her  white  teeth. 

13 


IF  1  WERE   KING 

"It  will  teach  me  not  to  play  the  fool  again/' 
Villon  answered  sadly.  "  The  mark  of  the  beast  is 
upon  me  and  I  shall  dream  no  more  dreams."  He 
shook  himself  a«  if  he  were  trying  to  shake  away 
clinging  memories  and  extended  his  empty  can 
to  Montigny,  saying:  "  I'm  thirsty  again.  More 
liquor." 

As  Montigny  filled  up  for  his  leader,  Louis  com- 
mented, "  You  drink  more  than  is  good  for  your 
health,  sir."  Villon  rounded  on  him  angrily,  with 
flushed  face  and  shining  eyes. 

"  Mind  your  own  business! "  he  shouted,  and  the 
rest  shouted  with  him  applaudingly.  "  What  can  a 
man  do  but  drink  when  France  is  going  to  the  devil, 
with  the  Burgundians  camped  in  the  free  fields 
where  I  played  in  childhood,  and  a  nincompoop  sits 
on  the  throne  and  lets  them  besiege  his  city?  "  The 
rascals  laughed.  Tristan  whispered  to  himself, 
"  You'll  be  sorry  you  spoke,  Master  Villon."  The 
king  propounded  a  problem.  "  No  doubt  you  could 
do  better  than  the  king  if  you  wore  the  king's  shoes?" 

Villon  rolled  about  on  his  barrel  in  an  ecstasy  of 
entertainment.  "  If  I  could  not  do  better  than  Louis 
Do-Nothing,  Louis  Dare-Nothing,  having  his  occa- 
sions and  advantages,  may  Huguette  there  never 
kiss  me  again." 

44 


MASTER  FRANCOIS  VILLON 

His  boon  companions  laughed.  Huguette  whis- 
pered sulkily, "  Perhaps  she  never  will." 

Isabeau  came  sidling  and  bridling  up  to  Louis, 
wheedling  like  a  cat  as  she  said :  "  Our  Franc,  ois  has 
made  a  rhyme  of  it,  sir,  how  he  would  carry  himself 
if  he  wore  the  king's  shoes." 

Louis  was  always  ready  for  any  kind  of  gallantry. 
He  put  his  arms  around  the  girl's  slim  body  and 
drew  her  on  to  his  knee.  "  Has  he,  indeed,  pretty 
minion? "  he  said.  "  May  we  not  hear  it,  Master 
Poet?  " 

Villon,  with  mock  modesty,  had  tried  to  restrain 
Isabeau  from  speaking  of  the  work,  but  now  he 
changed  his  tune.  "You  may;  you  shall;  for  'tis  a 
true  song,  though  it  would  cost  me  my  neck  if  it 
came  to  the  king's  ears,  very  likely.  But  you  are 
not  tall  enough  to  whisper  in  them,  so  here  goes." 

.With  a  shout  Villon  sprang  to  his  feet,  draped  his 
tattered  cloak  closely  about  him,  struck  a  conn 
manding  attitude,  and  began  to  recite  with  great 
solemnity.  Louis  scooped  his  claw-like  fingers  be- 
hind his  ear,  that  he  might  hear  the  better  the  words 
that  fell  from  the  wild  poet's  mouth: 

"  All  French  folk,  whereso'er  ye  be, 

iWho  love  your  country,  soil  and  sand. 

45 


IF    I  WERE   RING 

From  Paris  to  the  Breton  sea, 
And  back  again  to  Norman  strand, 

Forsooth  ye  seem  a  silly  band, 
Sheep  without  shepherd,  left  to  chance — • 

Far  otherwise  our  Fatherland 
If  Villon  were  the  King  of  France! " 

Louis  glanced  grimly  at  Tristan;  the  rogues 
rubbed  their  hands  and  chuckled.  Villon  smiled 
in  pride  and  went  on: 

"  The  figure  on  the  throne  you  see 

Is  nothing  but  a  puppet,  planned 
To  wear  the  regal  bravery 

Of  silken  coat  and  gilded  wand. 
Not  so  we  Frenchmen  understand 

The  Lord  of  lion's  heart  and  glance, 
And  such  a  one  would  take  command 

If  Villon  were  the  King  of  France! n 

The  king's  face  was  a  study  in  sardonics.  Tristan 
was  poppy-red  with  rage.  The  gang  applauded  and 
yillon  glowed  with  their  applause. 

"  His  counsellors  are  rogues,  Perdie! 

While  men  of  honest  mind  are  banned, 
To  creak  upon  the  Gallows  Tree, 
Or  squeal  in  prisons  o?er-mann>d; 

46 


"God!     Where  the  Oriflunme  should  stand 
If  Villon  were  the  King  of  Prance!" 


MASTER   FRANCOIS   VILLON 

.We  want  a  chief  to  bear  the  brand, 

And  bid  the  damned  Burgundians  dance; 

God !    Where  the  Oriflamme  should  stand 
If  Villon  were  the  King  of  France !  " 

Mugs  and  cans  clattered  approval.  The  rhymer's 
eyes  widened  as  he  drew  breath  to  blow  forth  the 
envoi  of  his  ballade. 

"  Louis  the  Little,  play  the  grand; 

Buffet  the  foe  with  sword  and  lance; 
'Tis  what  would  happen,  by  this  hand, 
If  Villon  were  the  King  of  France!  " 

A  roar  of  enthusiasm  came  from  the  full  throats 
of  the  band.  Montigny  slapped  Villon  on  the  back 
with  a  "  Well  crowed,  Chanticleer! "  Huguette  flung 
her  arms  around  him  and  hugged  him  as  she  cried 
passionately:  "  I  forgive  you  much,  for  that  light  in 
your  eyes." 

But  the  poet  seemed  weary  after  so  much  heat. 
He  pushed  the  girl  away  and  drooped  on  his  hogs- 
head. The  rogues  rattled  away  to  their  table  again, 
and  Villon  was  left  alone  with  Louis,  who  ques- 
tioned him  drily:  "  You  call  yourself  a  patriot,  I 
suppose? " 

Villon  had  recovered  sufficient  energy  to  drain  a 

47 


IF  I   WERE   KING 

mug  of  wine.  He  turned  to  the  king,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  forehead.  "  By  no  such  high-sounding 
title,"  he  answered.  "  I  am  but  a  poor  devil  with  a 
heart  too  big  for  his  body  and  a  hope  too  large  for 
his  hoop.  Had  I  been  begotten  in  a  brocaded  bed,  I 
might  have  led  armies  and  served  France;  have  loved 
ladies  without  fear  of  cudgellings,  and  told  kings 
truths  without  dread  of  the  halter,  while  as  it  is,  I 
consort  with  sharps  and  wantons,  and  make  my  com- 
plaint to  a  dull  little  buzzard  like  you,  old  noodle! 
Oh,  'tis  a  fool's  play  and  it  were  well  to  be  out  of  it." 

"You  won't  have  long  to  worry,"  Tristan  muttered 
to  himself  under  his  breath,  and  found  great  comfort 
in  the  thought.  Louis  merely  said:  "You  are  senten- 
tious!" 

Villon  took  him  up  swiftly.  "  The  quintessence  of 
envy,  no  less.  I  have  great  thoughts,  great  desires, 
great  ambitions,  great  appetites,  what  you  will.  I 
might  have  changed  the  world  and  left  a  memory. 
As  it  is  I  sleep  in  a  garret  under  the  shadow  of  the 
gallows,  and  shall  be  forgotten  to-morrow,  even  by 
the  wolves  I  pack  with.  But  this  is  dry  thinking; 
let's  to  drinking! "  As  he  spoke  Villon  rose  to  join 
his  comrades,  when  his  quick  eye  noted  that  Robin 
Turgis  had  fallen  asleep  on  his  bench.  Villon 
skipped  lightly  toward  him,  dexterously  unhooked 

48 


MASTER  FRANCOIS  VILLON 

his  bunch  of  keys  from  his  girdle,  and,  with  a  trium- 
phant gesture,  made  on  tiptoe  for  the  cellar  door, 
which  he  unlocked  and  through  which  he  disap- 
peared. Louis  looked  after  him  with  an  acid 
smile.  Tristan  leaned  forward  and  plucked  at  the 
king's  sleeve.  "Shall  I  hang  him  to-morrow?"  he 
asked,  hoarsely.  The  king  turned,  musing,  to  his 
henchman.  "We  shall  see!  He  is  a  loose-lipped 
fellow,  but  he  might  have  been  a  man.  He  has  set 
me  thinking  of  my  dream.  I  was  a  swine  rioting  in 
the  streets  of  Paris  and  I  found  a  pearl — well,  well. 
Let  us  kill  the  time  with  cards  till  Thibaut  d'Aus- 
signy  comes."  Tristan  produced  a  pack  of  cards 
from  his  pouch  and  laid  them  on  the  table.  "Do 
you  think  he  will  come?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  does  not  expect  to  find  me  here,  I  promise 
you,"  Louis  answered.  "  He  would  not  come  if  he 
did.  Barber  Olivier  is  to  warn  me  of  his  coming." 
As  he  spoke  the  inn-door  opened  a  little  and  the  king, 
hearing  the  click  of  the  catch,  asked:  "  Is  that  he?  " 

Tristan  glanced  round  over  his  shoulder.  The 
door  was  pushed  partly  open,  and  an  old,  stooped 
woman  was  peeping  curiously  into  the  room.  Tris- 
tan shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  No,  sire,"  he  snarled,  "  another  old  woman." 

By  this  time  the  king  had  arranged  the  cards  to 

49 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

his  satisfaction.  He  made  an  imperative  gesture  to 
his  companion  to  seat  himself  and  in  a  few  seconds 
had  forgotten  everything  else  in  the  excitement  of 
the  game.  Meanwhile  the  old  woman,  having 
pushed  the  doer  wide  open,  came  softly  into  the 
room.  She  was  a  quiet,  mild-faced  creature,  one  of 
those  human  shadows  who  suggest  without  tragedy 
faded  youth  and  withered  comeliness.  She  was 
very  poorly  but  very  neatly  dressed,  in  worn  grey 
and  rusty  black,  and  the  linen  folds  about  her 
lined  face  were  scrupulously  clean.  She  looked 
anxiously  around  her,  shading  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  in  the  dim  light  of  the  tavern,  unable  to  dis- 
cern much  but  evidently  eager  to  discern  something. 

Rene'  de  Montigny,  tired  of  teasing  Isabeau,  sud- 
denly looked  up  and  caught  sight  of  the  old  woman 
as  she  stood,  very  helpless  and  wistful,  peering  about 
her.  An  impish  spirit  floated  leaf -like  on  the  surface 
of  his  mind.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  danced  towards 
her  in  a  fantastic  manner,  sweeping  her  a  profound 
salutation  as  he  approached  her. 

"  Your  pleasure,  sweet  princess?  "  he  said  with 
mock  deference. 

The  old  woman  turned  her  wrinkled  visage  up  to 
his  in  wonder. 

*  Is  Master  Frangois  Villon  in  this  company,  sir?  " 
she  faltered. 


MASTER   FRANCOIS   VILLON 

Montigny  treated  her  to  another  profound  bow. 

"  Sweet  creature,"  he  simpered,  "  I  kiss  your  hand 
and  inquire." 

He  turned  to  his  companions  at  the  table  and  his 
eye  rested  mockingly  on  the  bowed  figure  of  Hu- 
guette.  After  Master  Villon  had  told  his  tale  Hu- 
guette  had  been  glum  enough,  and  her  comrades 
finding  her  snappish  wisely  left  her  to  herself.  She 
had  pulled  a  pack  of  cards  from  her  scarlet  pouch; 
she  had  been  spelling  out  her  fortune  silently,  and 
the  death  card  insisted  itself  again  and  again  with 
grim  pertinacity.  With  a  sense  of  despair  that  was 
strange  to  her  airy  nature  she  had  bowed  her  face 
'on  her  arms  and  was  sobbing  softly  to  herself. 
Montigny  was  not  a  man  to  be  touched  by  a  woman'* 
sorrow.  He  mockingly  gesticulated  over  her  bent 
shoulders  as  he  cried  to  the  others  in  a  false  whisper, 

"  There  is  a  beautiful  woman  at  the  door,  beseech- 
ing our  Francois." 

The  moment  these  words  fell  on  Huguette's  ears, 
they  stung  her  into  life  and  activity.  She  leaped 
to  her  feet  in  a  flash. 

"  What  do  you  say?  "  she  raged,  and  then,  seeing  a 
woman's  form  a  few  feet  away  from  her,  she  rushed! 
towards  the  stranger  furiously  while  the  others  rose 
in  eage*  expectation  of  some  new  excitement 

61 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"What  do  you  seek  here?"  she  asked  fiercely  of 
the  old  woman,  and  then  as  she  saw  the  pitiful 
wrinkled  face  staring  up  at  her,  she  started  back 
in  surprise. 

The  old  woman,  misinterpreting  the  sex  of  her 
questioner  from  the  dress  that  Huguette  wore,  be- 
gan apologetically. 

"  Asking  your  pardon,  young  gentleman,"  and  for 
a  moment  her  words  were  drowned  in  a  shout  of  de- 
lighted laughter,  as  the  listening  rogues  appreciated 
the  blunder  she  had  made. 

"Asking  your  pardon,  young  gentleman,  I  seek 
Master  Frangois  Villon." 

Huguette  snapped  at  her  impatiently,  "  Seek  him 
and  find  him."  Then  turning  to  Rene*,  she  cried, 
"  Montigny,  you  beast! "  and  with  her  hand  on  her 
dagger,  made  hotly  for  him. 

Montigny,  grinning  like  a  delighted  monkey, 
skipped  for  safety,  dodging  her  around  the  table, 
while  the  others  perceiving  a  victim  in  the  bewil- 
jdered  old  woman,  joined  hands  in  a  ring  and  began 
dancing  wildly  around  her,  singing  a  ribald  song. 
The  old  woman,  as  frightened  and  timid  as  a  mouse 
might  be  if  it  suddenly  found  itself  the  centre  of 
a  circle  of  dancing  cats,  stood  still. 

At  this  moment  the  cellar   door   opened,   and 

52 


MASTER  FRANCOIS    ViLLON 

Caster  Frangois  reappeared,  carrying  in  his  arms  a 
large  jug  of  wine.  Perceiving  that  the  landlord  still 
lay  in  his  heavy  sleep,  he  smiled  delightedly  to  him- 
self, closed  the  cellar  door  softly  and  placed  his 
booty  in  the  corner  of  the  fireplace  nearest  to  the 
settle.  The  noise  of  the  tumult  attracted  him  from 
his  successful  plunder,  and  looking  up,  he  became 
aware  of  what  was  happening.  In  a  second  his  con- 
tented mien  changed,  and  dashing  into  the  dancing 
crowd,  he  struck  Jehan  le  Loup  a  heavy  blow  with 
the  bunch  of  keys,  which  felled  him  to  the  ground 
like  a  log.  In  a  moment  the  cluster  of  rascals 
dissipated,  and  Villon  caught  the  old  woman  in  his 
arms. 

"  Damn  you,  chubs! "  he  shouted  at  them.  "  It's 
my  mother."  Then  as  he  drew  the  trembling  old 
woman  towards  the  fireplace,  he  whispered  in  her 
ears,  "  Don't  be  frightened,  mammy,  they  meant  no 
harm." 

A  certain  hang-dog  air  of  contrition  was  on  the 
?aces  of  most  of  the  members  of  the  gang  as  thejr 
stood  apart  and  eyed  the  mother  and  son  shame- 
facedly. Guy  Tabarie,  who  had  a  wholesome  dislike 
to  quarrels,  slipped  quietly  into  the  cool  street  to 
seek  pleasure  in  some  place  where  the  atmosphere 
might  be  less  stormy. 

53 


IF  I   WERE   KING 

Robin  Turgis  wakened  from  his  heavy  sleep, 
clapped  his  hand  instinctively  to  his  girdle  and  found 
that  his  keys  were  missing. 

"My  keys!  my  keys!"  he  shouted — "where  are 
my  keys?  "  And  then,  catching  sight  of  them  where 
they  lay  by  the  prostrate  form  of  Jehan  le  Loup,  he 
rushed  forward  and  secured  them  greedily. 

By  this  time  Jehan  le  Loup  had  recovered  the 
senses  which  Villon's  swinging  blow  had  knocked 
out  of  him  and  was  crawling  slowly  into  a  sitting 
posture.  He  glared  ferociously  at  Master  Frangois 
and  his  evil  right  hand  stole  to  the  pommel  of  his 
dagger. 

"You  have  cracked  my  crown,  curse  you,"  he 
grunted,  and  then  swiftly  sprang  to  his  feet  with  the 
bare  blade  in  his  hand  and  rushed  at  his  assailant. 
But  Villon  was  too  alert  to  be  taken  unawares.  He 
had  not  time  to  draw  his  sword,  but  in  a  second  he 
had  snatched  a  spit  from  the  fire  and  extending  it 
scientifically  kept  Jehan  le  Loup  at  arm's  length. 
Huguette  seized  Jehan  by  the  dagger  arm. 

"  She  is  his  mother! "  she  said  angrily.  "  You  all 
had  mothers,  I  suppose?  Let  him  alone! " 

Jehan  le  Loup  unwillingly  sheathed  his  weapon; 
Huguette  dragged  him  back  to  the  table;  Villon  re- 
placed the  spit,  which  had  somewhat  burned  his 

54 


MASTER   FRANCOIS   VILLON 

fingers,  and  gat  down  by  his  mother's  side  on  the 
settle,  in  peace. 

"  Did  they  frighten  you,  mammy?  "  he  whispered. 
"But  they  meant  no  harm.  Boys  and  girls,  girls 
and  boys." 

The  old  woman  put  her  arms  tightly  about  him. 
Villon  grimaced.  Her  loving  touch  was  as  painful 
as  a  hostile  one  to  his  bruised  body,  but  he  made  no 
attempt  to  repress  her  embrace. 

"  Come  home,  Francois,"  she  said.  "  Come  home. 
Where  have  you  been  these  three  days?  " 

Villon  caressed  the  old  woman  very  tenderly,  as 
he  answered: 

"  Very  busy,  mammy — state  secrets.  Muni's  the 
word.  How  did  you  find  me  out?  " 

"  They  told  me  at  the  Unicorn,"  the  old  woman 
said,  "  that  I  might  find  you  here." 

Villon  made  a  gesture  of  contempt. 

"  Oh,  the  Unicorn  is  no  longer  fashionable.  They 
want  payment  on  the  nail  there,  confound  them! 
Besides,  this  is  nearer  the  walls  and  we  can  hear 
the  Burgundians  shouting.  It  is  as  good  as  a  relish 
with  our  wine." 

Mother  Villon  shook  her  grey  head  sadly. 

"Come  away,"  she  entreated.  ".You  have  had 
wine  enough." 

55 


IF  I    WERE   KING 

[Villon  contradicted  her  instantly. 

"  Never  in  my  life,  mammy.  I  have  a  fool's  head 
and  always  get  into  my  altitudes  too  soon." 

Then,  seeing  the  look  of  disappointment  that  made 
her  grey  old  face  look  greyer  still,  he  added,  "  I  can- 
not come  home  just  now,  mammy,  but  there  is  some- 
thing I  can  do  for  you.  Do  you  remember  when  I 
was  a  little  child " 

Something  in  the  words  made  him  stop  suddenly. 
The  hideous  contrast  between  the  phrase  and  the 
place  wherein  he  was,  between  the  mother  who  fon- 
dled him  and  the  wild  men-savages  and  women-sav- 
ages who  were  his  daily  friends  and  who  were  drink- 
ing and  dicing  behind  him  at  the  other  side  of  the 
settle,  came  upon  him  like  a  great  wave  of  pain  and 
knocked  the  mirth  out  of  him.  He  turned  away  from 
his  mother  and  repeated  to  himself  dismally,  "  God! 
when  I  was  a  little  child! "  The  mother's  pity,  the 
mother's  protection  immediately  asserted  them- 
selves. 

"  You  were  the  prettiest  child  woman  ever  bore," 
she  said,  softly. 

yillon  turned  towards  her  again,  while  he  tried  to 
iWink  the  tears  out  of  his  eyes. 

"  You  used  to  sing  me  to  sleep,"  he  said,  and  as  he 
cpoke  he  rocked  her  slowly  backward  and  forward) 

56 


MASTER   FRANCOIS   VILLON 

in  his  arms,  while  he  crooned  the  words  of  that  old 
nurse's  song  which  has  soothed  so  many  generations 
of  French  children  to  sleep,  "Do,  do,  Penfant  do, 
1'enfant  dormira  tantot." 

"  Well,  mammy,  your  dutiful  son  has  made  a  song 
for  you  to  sing  yourself  to  sleep  with.  I  went  to 
church  the  other  day.  Oh,  on  my  honour,  I  did  " — 
this  was  in  reply  to  a  startled  look  of  surprise  that 
flooded  the  old  woman's  face — "  and  a  prayer  came 
into  my  head — a  prayer  for  you  to  say  to  our  Lady." 

The  old  woman  kissed  him  fondly  on  the  forehead. 

"  My  love  bird,"  she  said,  and  as  she  spoke  a  boy- 
ish look  that  had  long  been  absent  from  Villon's 
face  came  back  to  it  for  a  moment. 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  said.  "  Listen."  And  he  whispered 
to  her  the  verses  he  had  made,  while  the  old  woman 
crossed  herself  reverentially. 

"  Lady  of  Heaven,  Queen  of  Earth, 
Empress  of  Hell,  I  kneel  and  plead 
You  pity,  by  the  holy  birth, 
The  humblest  Christian  of  the  Creed; 
I  cannot  write;  I  cannot  read; 
I  am  a  woman  poor  and  old, 
But  in  the  Church,  where  I  behold 
The  gates  of  Paradise,  I  cry 
Woman  to  woman,  make  me  bold 
In  thy  belief  to  live  and  die." 

57 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"  There,  mammy,  there  is  a  pretty  prayer  for  you." 

Mother  Villon  was  dissolved  in  tears  and  sobbed 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  You  should  have  been  a  good  man,"  she  said. 

Yillon  stroked  her  hair  very  gently. 

"  We  are  as  Heaven  pleases,  dear."  He  paused  for 
a  moment,  then  suddenly  remembering  the  silver 
coin  which  he  had  confiscated  from  the  king,  he 
dipped  his  fingers  into  his  pouch  and  produced  it. 

"  Here  is  something  for  you,  mammy,"  he  said,  and 
as  the  old  woman,  with  a  faint  flush  on  her  worn 
cheeks,  seemed  about  to  protest,  he  insisted.  "  Oh, 
yes.  Take  it,  take  it.  It  was  honestly  come  by,  and 
you  will  spend  it  more  honestly  than  I  should."  He 
forced  the  coin  into  her  lean,  brown  hand,  and  added, 
"  Now  run  away,  mammy,  and  pray  yourself  to  sleep. 
[You  shall  see  me  soon,  I  promise  you." 

He  led  her  gently  across  the  tavern  floor  to  the 
door,  which  he  opened  for  her.  As  she  turned  to  go, 
she  looked  up  to  him  and  repeated  two  lines  of  his 
prayer: 

"  Woman  to  woman,  make  me  bold 
In  thy  belief  to  live  and  die." 

As  the  door  closed  and  Villon  turned  to  come  back 
to  his  seat,  Jehan  le  Loup,  who  had  been  eyeing  him 

58 


MASTER   FRANCOIS   VILLON 

and  who  was  eager  to  pay  off  the  score  of  his  cracked 
crown,  rose  to  his  feet,  dragging  Isabeau  with  him, 
and  barred  his  passage. 

"  Kiss  a  young  mouth  for  a  change,"  he  said,  and 
thrust  the  girl  against  the  poet.  Villon  brushed 
them  both  aside. 

"  Go  to  the  devil,"  he  said  angrily,  and  passed 
them.  Once  again  Jehan's  hand  sought  his  weapon 
and  once  again  he  was  restrained. 

"  He  is  in  one  of  his  bad  moods,"  said  Isabeau. 
"  Leave  him  to  himself,"  and  she  drew  her  reluctant 
companion  back  to  the  table,  while  Villon  seated 
himself  in  a  corner  of  the  settle,  staring  into  the  fire. 

At  the  moment  the  tavern  door  was  thrust  open 
violently  and  Guy  Tabarie  rushed  into  the  room,  his 
great  moon  face  sweating,  his  eyes  bulging,  his 
fringe  of  crimson  locks  flaming  out  from  the  egg- 
shell dome  of  his  bald  head,  his  mighty  belly  sway- 
ing with  a  passion  of  excitement. 

"Friends!"  he  shrieked,  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
"there's  a  fight  at  Fat  Margot's  between  two 
wenches.  They  are  stripped  to  the  waist  and  at  it 
hammer  and  tongs.  Comp  and  see  for  the  love  of 
God!" 

The  whole  band  was  afoot  in  an  instant,  clamantly 
agog.  Guy  Tabarie  turned  as  he  finished  speaking 

59 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

and  rushed  through  the  open  door  into  the  shining 
moonlit  street.  The  rest  trailed  after  him,  wander- 
ing stars  in  the  tail  of  a  dishonourable  comet,  shout- 
ing, screaming,  laughing,  pushing,  panting,  eager  for 
the  promised  sport. 

"  I'll  crown  the  victor!  "  cried  Montigny  as  he  ran 
— and  "  I'll  console  the  vanquished! "  shouted  Jehan 
le  Loup,  as  he  brought  up  the  rear  of  the  road  and 
vanished,  clattering,  into  the  night.  Only  Huguette 
remained  of  all  the  fellowship,  and  she  turned  in- 
stinctively to  Villon  when  he  crouched  over  the 
dying  fire. 

"  Will  you  come,  Frangois?  "  she  whispered  softly. 
Villon  lifted  his  head  for  a  moment  from  his  hands 
to  signify  a  refusal. 

"  Nay,  I  am  reading." 

Huguette  blazed  out  at  him  a  fierce  "You  lie!" 
which  failed  to  move  the  poet  from  his  melancholy 
resolve. 

"  A  man  may  read  without  book,"  he  said.  "  Go 
your  ways,  girl,  and  skelp  both  the  hussies! "  He 
'drooped  into  a  dejected  heap  again,  oblivious  of  the 
girl,  who  looked  at  him  half  sadly,  half  angrily  for 
an  instant,  and  then  disappeared  in  her  turn  into 
the  causeway,  calling  upon  her  knavish  heralds  to 
wait  for  her. 

00 


MASTER   FRANCOIS  VILLON 

Robin  Turgis,  shutting  the  door  after  her  with  a 
sigh  of  satisfaction,  retired  to  his  own  quarters  to 
seek  sleep  until  custom  should  return.  Louis  and 
Tristan,  deep  in  their  cards,  paid  little  heed  to  any- 
thing else. 

"  Your  barber  tarries,"  Tristan  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  The  game  makes  amends,"  Louis  answered. 

"You  are  winning,  sire,"  Tristan  grunted.  The 
king  chirruped  merrily. 

"  My  grandsire  will  be  remembered  longer  than 
most  kings  for  the  sake  of  these  wasters  and  winners 
that  they  made  to  soothe  his  madness." 

But  even  as  he  spoke  his  mirth  faded,  for  a  turn 
of  Fortune  gave  Tristan  an  opportunity. 

"My  game,  sire!"  he  said,  and  swept  the  stakes 
into  his  pocket. 

The  king  fell  into  a  frowning  silence  as  Tristan 
dealt  the  cards  again,  and  scrutinized  his  new  hand 
with  a  sombre  care,  as  if  the  fate  of  Empire  de- 
pended upon  it.  Scarcely  a  sound  disturbed  the 
heavy  quiet  of  the  room.  Master  Frangois  Villon 
glooming  in  his  settle  corner,  sucked  a  long  noiseless 
draught  from  his  stolen  jug  and  meditated  drear- 
ily. Between  wine  and  weariness  his  head  was  be- 
ginning to  swim.  His  head  felt  as  heavy  as  lead  and 
his  brain  as  light  and  foolish  as  a  wind-tumbled 

61 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

feather.  Two  women's  faces  danced  before  his  eyes, 
one  proud  and  beautiful  and  young,  the  other 
humble  and  pitiful  and  old,  and  he  tried  his  best  to 
etiut  both  of  them  out  of  his  senses.  Vaguely  he  tried 
to  shape  a  ballade,  a  noble  ballade  in  honour  of  all 
things  good  to  eat.  He  had  got  at  least  an  excellent 
overword.  "  A  dish  of  tripe's  the  best  of  all."  He 
mouthed  the  line  with  a  relish,  but  his  eyes  were 
seeing  straws  and  his  stubbled  chin  scraped  his 
breast.  There  came  a  click  at  the  latch,  but  he  did 
not  heed  it.  He  would  scarcely  have  heeded  a  Bur- 
gundian  cannon  shot;  he  had  drifted  into  a  lumpish 
doze.  And  yet  the  way  of  the  world  depended,  for 
him,  upon  that  lift  of  a  latch. 


CHAPTER   III 
THE   COMING  OF  KATHERINE 

A  HE  door  opened  and  a  woman  entered  the  room, 
a  woman  closely  muffled  after  the  fashion  adopted 
by  discreet  ladies  when  they  walked  abroad  in  Paris 
in  the  fifteenth  century.  She  was  followed  by  an 
armed  serving-man  to  whom  she  turned  and  spoke 
in  a  whisper  as  she  paused  upon  the  threshold. 

"  You  are  sure  this  is  the  place?  "  she  asked,  and 
the  man  answered — 

"  Sure! " 

"  Wait  outside! "  the  muffled  lady  commanded,  and 
the  servant  with  an  obeisance  stepped  back  into  the 
street.  The  woman  looked  cautiously  about  her,  only 
her  bright  eye  showing  over  the  lifted  fold  of  her 
cloak.  Villon  was  hidden  from  her  while  he  sat; 
there  was  no  one  in  her  view  save  the  two  men 
playing  cards.  She  came  cautiously  forward  and 
touched  Tristan,  who  was  nearest  to  her,  on  the 
[Shoulder.  He  swung  round,  with  hooded  face,  to  an- 
swer the  challenge,  and  as  he  did  so  Louis  took 
advantage  of  his  turned  back  to  examine  Tristan's 
hand,  which  he  had  laid  upon  the  table,  and  to  sub- 
stitute a  card  from  his  own  hand  for  one  of  his 
adversary's. 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

*  Has  Master  Frangois  Villon  been  here  to-night?  "• 
the  woman  asked.  Her  voice  was  full  and  sweet,  and 
Tristan  knew  it  well  though  he  listened  immovably. 
She  had  lowered  her  cloak  enough  to  allow  him  a 
glimpse  of  a  young,  lovely  face,  but  he  needed  no 
glimpse  to  assure  him. 

"  Yonder  he  squats  by  the  hearth,"  he  answered, 
masking  his  own  voice  with  hoarseness  and  jerking 
his  thumb  towards  the  settle.  The  girl's  eyes 
followed  the  signal  and  saw  for  the  first  time  the 
huddled  figure  on  the  bench.  "  I  thank  you,"  she 
said  simply,  and  moved  away  into  the  background, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  crouching  form,  her  fingers 
clasped  nervously,  waiting  an  impatient  patience 
upon  resolution. 

Tristan  leaned  hurriedly  over  to  the  king. 

"  Zounds,  sire!  do  you  know  who  that  was?  " 

Louis,  smiling  at  his  adopted  cards,  answered  care- 
lessly, "Some  bonaroba  who  took  you  for  a  gull," 
but  Tristan's  next  words  pricked  him  from  his  in- 
difference. 

u  It  was  your  majesty's  kinswoman,  the  Lady 
Katherine  de  Vaucelles." 

The  king  rose  cautiously  to  his  feet. 

«0h,  ho,  Oh,  ho!"  he  chuckled.  "Does  lovely 
Katherine  come  to  meet  Thibaut?  " 

u  She  seeks  Franpois  Villon,  sire." 


THE  COMING  OF  KATHERINE 

The  king  started. 

"  Is  she  the  girl  he  spoke  of?  Do  we  catch  her 
tripping?  " 

Louis  looked  at  the  motionless  figure  of  the  girl, 
then  his  gaze  travelled  rapidly  around  the  room. 
Behind  him  was  a  doorway.  Soundlessly  he  opened 
it,  saw  that  it  gave  on  to  a  dark  passage^  motioned 
Tristan  through  it,  bade  him  in  a  whisper  to  wait 
in  the  darkness.  As  Tristan  disappeared  the  girl 
seemed  to  make  up  her  mind  and  moved  slowly 
across  the  floor  toward  the  dozing  poet.  The  king 
watched  her  narrowly  as  he,  too,  began  to  move, 
skulking  among  the  shadows  Mong  the  wall.  His 
goal  was  the  distant  space  behind  the  settle,  where 
his  cunning  mind  discerned  a  good  listening  place — 
for  to  listen  was  Louis'  passion.  The  king's  cread 
was  cat-quiet — the  king's  breath  was  mouse-still;  for 
a  moment  he  paused  at  the  street-door  as  if  about  to 
pass  out,  but  seeing  that  he  was  unnoticed  he  drifted 
unheeded  through  obscurity  to  his  haven  and  nestled 
there  just  as  the  girl,  bending  forward,  touched  the 
sleeper  firmly  on  the  shoulders  and  then  drew  back, 
defiantly  abiding  by  her  temerity. 

Villon  moved  uneasily,  as  if  resenting  the  inter- 
ruption to  his  slumbers  that  the  firm  touch  had  dis- 
turbed, and  he  grumbled  sullenly,  without  looking 
up,  "  What  is  it?  " 

65 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Trie  woman  bent  towards  him  again  and  whispered 

"A  word  with  you." 

Villon  rose  wearily  to  his  feet,  and  as  he  did  so 
the  woman  drew  back  towards  the  open  centre  of  the 
room,  which  now  appeared  to  her  to  be  empty.  Her 
nerves  were  too  highly  strung  to  note  anything  sur- 
prising in  the  disappearance  of  the  two  visitors.  If 
she  thought  of  them  at  all  it  was  only  to  be  glad  that 
they  had  gone  their  ways  and  left  the  place  so 
lonely.  Villon  followed  her  almost  unconsciously, 
too  sleepy  for  wonder.  Suddenly  the  woman  threw 
off  the  folds  that  muffled  her  face  and  the  vision  that 
had  haunted  him  flashed  on  his  frightened  eyes,  the 
vision  so  proud,  so  beautiful  and  young.  He  crossed 
himself  as  he  questioned  in  a  voice  that  sounded 
strangely  alien  to  him,  "  Are  you  real?  " 

"Do  I  look  like  a  ghost?"  the  fair  woman  an- 
swered. 

In  an  ecstasy  of  joy  Villon  fell  on  his  knees  as  he 
seldom  kneeled  in  prayer,  while  he  gasped, 

"  If  this  be  a  dream,  pray  Heaven  I  may  never 
wake." 

The  girl  drew  from  her  bosom  a  little  piece  of 
folded  parchment  and  held  it  out  towards  him. 

"  You  wrote  me  these  verses.  My  elders  tell  me 
that  poets  say  much  and  mean  little;  that  their  oaths 


THE  COMING  OP  KATHERINE 

are  like  gingerbread,  as  hot  and  sweet  in  the  moutK 
and  as  easily  swallowed.    Are  you  such  a  one?  " 

.Villon  rose  to  his  feet    He  knew  that  this  ex- 
quisite presence  was  flesh  and  biood;  that  her  speech 
was  human  speech.  He  answered  her  very  gravely — 
"  My  words  are  life.    I  love  you! " 
"  Just  because  I  show  a  smooth  face?  n 
'A  great  wave  of  rapture  swept  over  the  poet's  soul 
and  his  brain  seemed  as  busy  with  words  as  a  hive 
with  bees.  He  spoke  slowly  like  a  man  inspired. 

"  Because  you  are  the  loveliest  she  alive.  If  all  my 
dreams  of  loveliness  had  been  pieced  together  into 
one  perfect  woman  she  would  have  been  like  you. 
All  my  life  I  have  read  tales  of  love  and  tried  to  find 
their  secret  in  the  bright  eyes  about  me — tried  and 
failed.  I  might  as  well  have  been  seeking  for  the 
Holy  Grail.  But  when  I  saw  you  the  old  Heaven 
and  the  old  Earth  seemed  to  shrivel  away  and  I 
knew  what  love  might  mean,  and  God-like  desire 
and  God-like  surrender.  The  world  is  changed  by, 
your  coming,  all  sweet  tastes  and  fair  colours  and 
soft  sounds  have  something  of  you  in  them.  I  eat 
and  drink,  I  see  and  hear  in  your  honour.  The  people 
in  the  street  are  blessed  because  you  have  patsed 
among  them.  That  stone  on  the  ground  is  sacred, 
for  your  foot  has  touched  it;  or  the  dusty;  booth  at 

67 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

the  corner,  which  your  sleeve  has  brushed  in  passing. 
I  love  you!  All  philosophy,  all  wisdom,  religion, 
honour,  manhood,  hope,  beauty  lie  in  those  words — 
I  love  you! " 

The  girl  looked  at  him  with  wide  eyes,  quite  fear- 
less, much  astonished,  as  a  brave  maid  might  look 
at  eome  wild  beast  of  the  woods  that  came  in  her 
way.  But  the  purport  of  his  words  seemed  to  please 
her,  for  she  answered  him  quickly  and  readily. 

"  Well,  I  have  come  to  you  to  put  your  protesta- 
tions to  the  proof.  If  you  meant  every  word  you  said, 
every  syllable,  every  letter,  you  can  serve  me  well. 
If  not,  good-night  and  good-bye." 

And  with  these  words  she  moved  a  little  as  if 
she  were  ready  to  say  farewell  to  him  then  and  there. 
Villon  put  forward  an  appealing  hand  that  stayed 
her. 

"  I  wrote  with  my  heart's  blood,"  he  protested,  and 
even  a  green  girl  could  not  fail  to  read  the  truth 
in  his  voice.  Now  she  came  close  to  him,  speaking 
very  low  but  very  distinctly. 

"  Listen.  I  am  one  of  the  Queen's  ladies;  Thibaut 
d'Aussigny,  the  Grand  Constable  of  France,  loves  me 
a  little  and  my  broad  lands  much.  He  will:  that  I 
should  marry  him.  He  tried  to  force  me  to  his  will, 
to  shame  me  to  his  pleasure,  and  so  I  hate  him,  and 


THE  COMING  OF  KATHERINE 

so  should  you,  for  it  was  he  who  gave  you  your 
beating." 

Villon,  who  had  been  listening  to  her  in  wonder, 
started  as  if  he  had  been  struck  anew. 

"  Oh,  it  was  he?  "  he  interrupted.  The  girl  came  a 
little  closer,  became  a  little  more  confidential. 

"  He  gave  your  rhymes  to  me  and  told  me  how  you 
had  been  treated.  When  I  read  them  I  said — here,  if 
a  poet  speaks  truth,  is  the  one  man  in  France  who 
can  help  me." 

Villon  drew  himself  back  with  a  little  shiver  of 
intelligence.  The  rumes  of  wine,  the  fumes  of  wonder 
were  drifting  away  from  him,  leaving  him  face  to 
face  with  naked,  amazing  reality. 

"  Why  not  your  yellow-haired,  pink-faced  lover?" 
he  asked.  Katherine  frowned  disdain. 

"  Noel  le  Jolys  is  a  man  many  women  might  love, 
but  I  love  no  man;  I  only  hate  Thibaut  d'Aussigny. 
Do  you  understand?" 

"  I  begin  to  understand,"  Villon  answered,  sadly. 

The  girl  came  nearer  to  Villon.  Her  face  was 
very  pale  in  the  dim  light,  and  a  fleeting  image  of  the 
moon  in  clouds  teased  his  fancy.  Her  lips  were  as 
red,  he  thought,  as  the  ruby  of  a  bishop's  ring,  and 
her  eyes  out-starred  Venus.  So  it  was  he  who 
trembled  and  not  the  maiden  who  was  saying 

69 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

strange  unmaiden-like  words  in  a  clear,  steel-like 
.whisper. 

"  Kill  Thibaut  d'Aussigny.  You  are  a  skillful 
swordsman,  they  say.  You  are  little  better  than  an 
outlaw.  You  say  you  love  me  more  than  life.  Kill 
Thibaut  d'Aussigny! " 

Dillon  looked  at  her  queerly.  To  save  his  life  he 
could  not  keep  his  face  from  quivering.  He  was 
eating  his  heart  and  it  tasted  very  bitter,  and  his 
own  voice  sounded  far  away  to  him,  like  a  voice 
heard  in  a  dream. 

"  So  that  you  and  Noel  what's  his  name  may  live 
happily  ever  after?  " 

Katherine  drew  back  from  him,  a  little  scorn  in  her 
eyes  and  on  her  lips. 

"  Are  you  less  eager  to  serve  me  than  you  were?  " 

The  question  struck  him  in  the  breast  like  the 
stroke  of  a  sword.  He  remembered  his  golden  vows 
and  his  golden  verses,  and  sickened  at  his  shadow  of 
disloyal  doubt  and  anger. 

.  "  No,  by  Heaven,  but  I've  been  dozing  and  dream- 
Ing,  and  I've  got  to  rub  the  sleep  out  of  my  eyes  and 
the  dream  out  of  my  heart.  Tell  me  how  to  serve 
you." 

She  was  reassured  on  the  instant  and  neared  him 
again  confidently. 

70 


THE  COMING  OF  KATHERINE 

"  Thibaut  d'Aussigny  comes  here  to-night.  He 
has  come  here  before  in  disguise,  for  I  have  had 
him  followed.  I  think  he  means  to  betray  the  king 
to  Burgundy,  so  you  will  serve  France  as  well  as  me. 
How  do  such  men  as  you  kill  each  other?  " 

Villon  looked  at  her  ironically  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eyes;  answered  her  ironically  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  mouth.  He  saw  himself  as  she  saw  him,  and 
was  sadly  entertained  at  the  sight. 

"  Generally  in  a  drunken  scuffle.  Will  you  wait 
here  till  he  comes,  pretty  lady,  for  I  never  saw  him? 
Then  leave  the  rest  to  me." 

Something  in  his  voice,  though  it  was  firm  and 
clear,  seemed  to  touch  the  girl's  ear  more  than  any 
word  he  had  yet  uttered.  A  new  curiosity  seemed 
to  lurk  in  her  eyes  and  there  was  almost  a  sound  of 
pity  in  her  speech. 

"You  love  me  very  much?"  she  asked  softly, 
yillon  drew  himself  up  proudly  and  answered  her 
proudly. 

"  With  all  the  meaning  that  the  word  can  have  in 
Paradise." 

A  faint  shade  of  colour  came  into  the  woman's 
pale,  pure  cheeks. 

"  You  didn't  expect  to  be  taken  at  your  word?  " 

Villon  smiled  brightly  and  his  eyes  were  dancing, 
though  his  heart  was  heavy  enough. 

71 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"  I  didn't  hope  to  be,  I  will  try  to  be  worthy  of  the. 
honour." 

The  girl's  eyes  shone  with  wonder. 

"You  love  and  laugh  in  the  same  breath,"  she 
asserted. 

iVillon  made  a  deprecatory  gesture  with  his  hands, 
half  in  protest,  half  in  approval. 

"  That  is  my  philosophy." 

This  view  of  life  seemed  to  astonish  her  not  a 
little.  She  caught  her  breath  for  a  moment,  then 
suddenly  glided  close  to  him. 

"  If  you  wish,"  she  said  in  an  even  whisper,  "  you 
may  kiss  me  once." 

All  the  blood  in  the  man's  heart  seemed  to  turn  to 
fire  and  flame  into  his  face  as  he  turned  towards  her, 
making  as  if  he  would  take  her  face  in  his  hands  and 
seal  his  soul  upon  her  mouth.  Then  he  sharply 
flung  himself  away  from  her. 

"  Nay,  I  can  fight  and  if  needs  must  die  in  your 
quarrel,  but  if  once  I  touched  your  lips — that  would 
make  life  too  sweet  to  adventure." 

The  woman's  face  had  flushed  a  little  at  her  offer: 
it  now  paled  again. 

"  As  you  will,"  she  said,  and  as  she  spoke  there 
came  the  noise  of  shouting,  singing  and  trampling 
feet  outside.  The  poet  dropped  in  a  moment  from 

72 


"A  cunning  reader  of  features  would  have  found  a  home  for 
high  thoughts  behind  the  fine  forehead,  the  lines  of  infinite 
tenderness  upon  the  mobile  lips,  the  light  of  some  noble  con- 
flagration in  the  wild  eyes." 


THE  COMING  OF   KATHERINE 

the  dizzy  pinnacle  of  dreamland  to  the  calm  valley 
of  a  commonplace  world. 

"  These  are  my  friends  returning/'  he  said.  "  They 
mustn't  see  you.  Come  this  way."  As  he  spoke  he 
caught  her  hand  and  drew  her  across  the  room  to  the 
stairs  that  led  to  the  upper  gallery.  On  the  gallery 
he  bade  her  wait. 

"  Here  you  can  see  without  being  seen.  When  he 
comes,  show  him  to  me.  Then  you  can  reach  the 
street  by  this  passage." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  main  door  was  dashed  open 
and  the  wild  rout  foamed  into  the  room,  bubbling 
with  exhilaration,  Huguette  leaping  like  a  bubble  on 
the  eddies  of  their  enthusiasm.  Louis  and  Tristan 
took  advantage  of  the  confusion  to  emerge  from  their 
hiding  places  and  resume  their  seats  at  their  table. 

"That  was  rare  sport  while  it  lasted,"  Colin 
shouted. 

"  It  didn't  last  long  enough,"  Jehan  yelled. 

"  Things  took  a  different  turn  when  you  came, 
rAbbess,"  Montigny  said,  patting  the  girl  on  the 
back  approvingly.  Huguette  shook  her  long  hair 
out  of  her  eyes  and  laughed  as  she  turned  down  her 
rolled-up  sleeves. 

"  I  did  as  Francois  bade  me  and  basted  both  the 
jades.  .Wine,  landlord,  wine!  Aly  arms  ache," 

73 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Robin  Turgis  was  prompt;  flagons  and  pipkins 
rattled  as  the  men  and  women  gathered  round  their 
table  and  renewed  their  drinking  and  dicing  with 
fresh  zest  from  the  scuffle  they  had  just  witnessed. 
Guy  Tabarie  laughed  one  of  his  long  fat  laughs  as 
he  lingered  over  memory's  picture  of  the  way 
Huguette  had  trussed  and  trounced  each  of  the 
amazons.  "  Lord,  how  they  squeaked  and  wriggled!  " 
he  said  unctuously. 

Louis  whispered  to  his  companion. 

"  Our  mad  poet  may  do  me  a  good  turn,  Gossip 
Tristan." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  inn  door  opened  and  a  man 
entered — a  small  man,  plainly  clad,  with  his  hood 
about  his  face.  He  glanced  about  him  anxiously  till 
he  caught  sight  of  Louis  and  Tristan,  for  whom  he 
made  immediately.  Villon,  craning  over  the  balus- 
trade, saw  him  and  touched  the  girl  on  the  arm  to 
call  her  attention  to  the  new-comer. 

"  Is  that  he?  "  he  whispered.  The  girl  shook  her 
head. 

"  No,  no.  Tliibaut  is  a  big  man.  Yet  that  figure 
seems  familiar." 

The  stranger  came  to  the  table  and  stooped  be- 
tween Louis  and  Tristan.  Louis  looked  up  and 
grinned  recognition  of  his  barber,  Olivier  le  Dain. 

74 


THE   COMING  OF   KATHERINE 

"  He  is  coming,  sire,"  Olivier  said. 

"  You  are  sure?  " 

"  We  dogged  his  footsteps  all  the  way,  till  I 
slipped  ahead.  Here  he  comes!" 

.With  finger  on  lip  Olivier  glided  through  the  door 
behind  which  Tristan  had  been  concealed  a  few  mo- 
ments before.  The  king  rubbed  his  hands  and 
chuckled.  Even  Tristan  looked  pleased. 


75 


CHAPTER   IV 
ENTER   TH1BAUT 

OXCE  again  the  door  swung  on  its  hinges  admit- 
ting a  very  tall,  powerful  man,  dressed  like  a  com- 
mon soldier,  his  brawny  bulk  panoplied  in  steel  and 
leather.  He  glanced  about  him  as  he  entered,  ex- 
changed looks  with  Rene  de  Montigny  and  came 
down  to  the  settle,  where  he  flung  his  vast  body  with 
a  clatter  while  he  called  to  the  landlord  in  a  bull's 
bellow  to  bring  him  some  wine. 

Katherine  leaning  and  looking  gave  a  little  gasp. 
"  That  is  he!  "  she  breathed  into  Villon's  ear. 
Villon  gave  an  involuntary  sigh,  partly  indeed 
of  satisfaction  at  the  thought  that  his  quarry  was 
before  him,  a  very  vast  and  royal  stag  for  a  hunter's 
hand  to  threaten,  but  partly  too  of  exquisite  regret. 
It  had  been  very  sweet  to  crouch  there  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  stairway  so  close  to  the  one  fair  woman 
of  all  the  world,  to  feel  her  breath  upon  his  cheek, 
almost  to  hear  her  heart-beats,  to  know  that  once 
if  only  for  once  they  were  alone  together  and  allied 
in  a  common  purpose,  to  feel  the  touch  of  her  soft 
gown,  to  know  that  if  he  chose  he  could  touch  her 
hair  with  his  outstretched  hand.  Those  seconds 

76 


ENTER   THIBAUT 

of  strange  intimacy  seemed  to  be  worth  all  the  rest 
of  his  life — and  now  they  had  come  to  an  end.  Now 
he  had  to  show  that  he  deserved  them.  "  Good,"  he 
said,  and  leaving  her  side  he  softly  descended  the 
stairs,  crept  cat-foot  across  the  tavern  floor  and  in- 
sinuated himself  dexterously  into  the  society  of  his 
friends,  who  were  by  this  time  far  too  mad  and 
merry  to  show  any  surprise  at  his  sudden  re-appear- 
ance, or  to  question  whence  he  came.  Only  one  of 
the  fellowship  was  away  from  the  board — Rene*  de 
Montigny,  who  had  risen  as  soon  as  the  soldier  had 
taken  his  seat  by  the  fireplace,  and  had  come  down  to 
greet  him  in  a  seemingly  careless,  off-hand  fashion. 
Villon  dexterously  moving  from  friend  to  friend 
managed  to  niche  himself  by  the  back  of  the  settle 
where  he  could  catch  some  of  the  words  that  passed 
between  Montigny  and  the  stranger,  whose  meeting 
was  also  the  subject  of  unsuspected  scrutiny  on  the 
part  of  the  unassuming  burgesses  who  sat  apart  and 
to  whom  no  one  now  gave  heed. 

"  A  fine  evening,  friend,"  Montigny  said  affably. 

"  Pretty  fine  for  the  time  of  year,"  the  soldier 
answered.  "  How  is  your  garden,  friend?  " 

Montigny  smiled  whimsically. 

"  Very  salubrious,  if  it  were  not  for  the  shooting 
stars." 

77 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Then  as  the  soldier  stared  at  him  he  hastened  to 
explain. 

"  My  quip.  The  shooting  star  was  a  Burgundian 
arrow  a  cloth-yard  long  which  came  winging  its 
way  over  the  walls  at  noon  and  made  itself  at  home 
in  my  garden.  Here  is  what  the  arrow  carried." 

He  pulled  from  his  pouch  a  small  piece  of  parch- 
ment folded  and  sealed,  and  handed  it  to  the  seem- 
ing soldier.  The  disguised  constable  took  the  mis- 
sive and  scanned  it  narrowly. 

"The  seal  has  not  been  tampered  with,"  he  said 
to  himself.  Rene'  caught  him  up  with  a  noble  ges- 
ture of  indignation. 

"  I  never  read  other  people's  letters,"  he  protested. 

Thibaut  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

*  It  would  have  profited  you  little  if  you  had," 
he  said,  as  he  broke  the  seal  and  turning  aside 
stooped  a  little  to  read  by  the  faint  fire  light  what 
the  letter  said.  It  was  couched  in  words  that  seemed 
commonplace  enough,  but  Thibaut  knew  their  secret 
meaning,  knew  that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  would 
'do  all  that  he  asked,  give  him  a  duchy,  give  him  the 
girl  he  coveted,  all  that  he  might  ask  for  or  lust  for 
if  he  would  only  play  the  traitor  and  deliver  Louis 
into  the  Duke  of  Burgundy's  hands.  As  this  was 
precisely  what  Thibaut  was  resolved  to  do,  a  pleased 

78 


ENTER   THIBAUT 

smile  played  over  his  lips  as  he  tossed  the  parch- 
ment into  the  glowing  ashes  and  watched  it  wither 
into  nothingness.  He  turned  to  Montigny,  who  was 
watching  him  attentively. 

"  Can  you  command  some  safe  rogues  of  your  kid- 
ney who  think  better  of  Burgundian  gold  than  of 
the  fool  on  the  throne?" 

Montigny  answered  him  behind  his  hand.  "  Aye. 
I  know  of  half  a  dozen  stout  lads  who  would  pilfer 
the  king  from  his  palace  of  the  Louvre  if  they  were 
paid  well  enough  for  the  job,"  and  he  jerked  his 
thumb  over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of  his 
carousing  comrades.  Thibaut  nodded  approval.  He 
thrust  some  gold  into  Montigny's  ready  palm, 
whispered  to  him  to  meet  him  again  to-morrow,  and 
as  Montigny  rejoined  his  friends  he  turned  to  leave 
the  tavern. 

To  his  surprise  he  found  himself  confronted  by 
iVillon,  who  feigning  intoxication  barred  his  passage 
with  an  air  of  great  hilarity.  "  You  walk  abroad 
late,  honest  soldier,"  he  hiccoughed. 

"  That's  my  business,"  Thibaut  answered,  trying 
to  pass,  but  Villon  still  delayed  him. 

"Don't  be  testy.     Come  and  crack  a  bottle." 

"I've  had  enough,  and  you've  had  more  than 
enough,"  Thibaut  growled.  "Go  to  bed!" 

79 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Villon's  false  good  humour  changed  in  a  clap. 

"  You're  a  damned  uncivil  fellow,  soldier,  and 
don't  know  how  to  treat  a  gentleman  when  you  see 
one." 

Thibaut  began  to  lose  patience. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way!  "  he  said,  and  gave  Villon  a 
little  push  with  his  open  hand  that  made  him  stag- 
ger. Villon's  voice  rose  to  a  yell. 

"  I  will  not  get  out  of  the  way!  How  do  I  know 
you  are  an  honest  soldier?  How  do  I  know  that  you 
are  a  true  man?  " 

As  Villon's  voice  rose  the  altercation  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  revellers.  Montigny  glided  to 
Villon's  side  and  whispered  him. 

"Let  him  alone,  Frangois;  he's  not  what  he 
seems." 

"  Seems!  Who  cares  what  he  seems?  "  Villon 
shouted.  "  It's  what  he  is  I  want  to  know.  Per- 
haps he's  not  an  honest  soldier  at  all.  Perhap's  he's 
a  damned  Burgundian  spy!  " 

Thibaut  lifted  his  hand  to  crush  Villon,  but  the 
poet's  naked  dagger  menaced  him  and  he  paused. 

"  Fling  this  drunken  dog  into  the  street,"  he  com- 
manded angrily.  Villon's  friends  snapped  at  him 
furiously.  Villon  flung  back  the  phrase. 

"Drunken   dog,   indeed!    You  are  a  lying,   ill- 

80 


ENTER   THIBAUT 

favoured  knave!  Keep  the  door,  friends,  this  rogue 
has  insulted  me.  Pluck  out  your  iron,  soldier!" 

In  a  moment  the  whole  pack  were  between 
Thibaut  and  the  door,  every  woman  a  fury,  every 
man  a  fighter,  every  man  with  the  exception  of 
Rene'  de  Montigny,  who,  dexterously  disentangling 
himself  from  the  mass  of  his  companions,  made  for 
the  side  door  and  slipped  out  of  it  unheeded  in  the 
confusion.  It  was  his  intention  to  alarm  the  watch 
and  intervene  for  the  protection  of  his  powerful 
patron,  and  with  this  purpose  in  his  mind  he  disap- 
peared into  the  darkness  of  the  street  and  ran  as  fast 
as  his  legs  could  carry  him. 

In  the  meantime  the  quarrel  at  the  Fircone  raged 
hotter.  Thibaut,  glaring  at  his  enemies  as  a  bull 
might  glare  at  barking  dogs,  asked  savagely  of  the 
poet  who  was  brandishing  his  sword: 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you?" 

Villon  flung  has  head  back  defiantly  and 
flourished  his  sword. 

"  I  am  Frangois  Villon,  and  my  sword  is  as  good 
as  another  man's." 

The  moment  the  name  fell  on  Thibaut's  ears  the 
giant  gave  a  giant's  laugh. 

"  Are  you  Frangois  Villon?  "  he  thundered.  "  Lend 
me  a  cudgel,  some  one,"  and  he  looked  around  as  if 

81 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

seeking  for  the  weapon  he  asked  for.  .Villon 
snatched  up  a  mug  and  flung  the  heel  taps  in  the 
soldier's  face,  spotting  his  cheeks  with  drops  of 
crimson  that  trickled  on  to  his  breast  plate.  With  a 
choking  cry  of  rage  Thibaut  dragged  his  sword  into 
the  air. 

"  You  fool,"  he  hissed,  "  I'll  kill  you! " 

"  We  shall  see,"  Villon  answered  gallantly,  as  he 
stood  on  guard  alert  and  wary. 

For  a  moment  the  he-rascals  and  she-rascals  held 
their  breath.  The  great  figure  in  the  shining  steel 
seemed  so  to  dominate  the  slight  frame  of  their 
favourite  that  anything  like  an  equal  contest  be- 
tween the  two  men  seemed  little  less  than  ridicu- 
lous. What  skill  of  Villon's  could  hope  to  avail 
against  the  mighty  sweep  of  that  huge  soldier's 
weapon?  Suddenly  the  swift  spirit  of  Huguette 
solved  the  problem.  Springing  forward  with  the 
delicate  agility  of  a  young  panther,  she  poised, 
opinionative,  between  the  opponents. 

"  Fair  play! "  she  screamed.  "  This  is  David  and 
Goliath,"  and  as  she  spoke  she  pointed  with  one 
hand  at  Villon  while  with  the  other  she  struck  with 
her  open  palm  a  ringing  blow  on  the  cuirass  of 
iVillon's  antagonist.  "Let  them  fight  it  out  with 
sword  and  lantern  in  the  dark." 

..82 


ENTER   THIBAUT 

A  loud  shout  of  applause  greeted  the  girl's  sug- 
gestion. That  fantastic  form  of  duello  was  not  un- 
familiar to  the  free  companions  of  the  Court  of 
Miracles,  and  Villon  himself,  eager  as  he  was  for 
the  combat,  was  keen  enough  to  see  how  well  this 
way  might  work  for  the  surety  of  his  purpose.  Skill, 
inches,  tricks  of  fence,  all  things  were  equal  when 
men  fought  as  shadows  in  shadowland. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Goliath?  "  he  laughed,  and  the 
grim  face  of  Thibaut  smiled  responsive. 

"  As  you  please,"  he  said,  serenely  confident  in  his 
strength  and  length  of  arm.  "  It  is  all  one  to  me." 
Then  suddenly  looking  round  on  the  leering,  sullen 
faces  about  him,  a  wolfish  girdle  of  ferocity,  he 
caught  back  his  agreement  and  held  it  for  a  moment. 
"  On  this  condition,"  he  added.  "  When  there  is  an 
end  of  you,  there  is  an  end  of  the  quarrel.  Your 
friends  here  must  agree  to  that." 

Villon  agreed  on  the  instant.  He  was  all  for 
ridding  the  world  of  Thibaut,  but  he  wanted  to  do 
it  himself  for  the  sake  of  the  wLite  girl  crouching  on 
the  stairway. 

"  I  promise,"  he  said,  "  for  myself  and  for  them," 
and  turning  to  the  girl,  he  insisted,  "  Promise, 
Huguette;  swear  it! " 

"  I  swear  it,"  Huguette  answered. 

83 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"  That  is  settled,"  said  Villon.  "  Now,  friends, 
make  a  ring  and  dowse  the  glim." 

In  another  instant,  the  preparations  for  the  com- 
bat were  afoot,  Robin  Turgis,  angrily  protesting 
against  the  desecration  of  his  orderly  hostelry  and 
shouting  wild  words  about  summoning  the  watch, 
was  promptly  overpowered  by  Jehan  le  Loup,  who 
forced  him  on  to  a  bench  and  kept  him  there  with 
a  dagger's  point  at  his  throat.  The  women  huddled, 
screaming  and  excited,  on  the  stairway  a  little  be- 
low the  place  where  Katherine  crouched,  holding 
her  breath  and  peeping  through  the  railings.  The 
men  stood  behind  tables  and  on  benches,  while  Casin 
Cholet  and  Colin  de  Cayeulx  dived  into  the  land- 
lord's quarters  and  reappeared  bearing  each  in  his 
hand  a  lighted  lantern.  While  these  preparations 
were  being  hurried  toward,  Tristan,  full  of  alarm, 
leaned  forward  and  plucked  at  the  king's  mantle. 

"  This  must  be  put  a  stop  to,  sire,"  he  whispered; 
but  the  king  shook  his  head  with  a  grim  smile  of 
satisfaction. 

"  On  the  contrary,  gossip,"  he  answered,  "  which- 
ever of  these  rascals  kills  the  other,  does  the  state 
a  service  and  saves  the  hangman  some  labour." 

.Villon  crossed  the  room  and  came  close  to  where 
Thibaut  waited  sullen.  "  I  think  I  shall  square  our 

84 


ENTER   THIBAUT 

reckoning,  Master  Thibaut,"  he  whispered.  The 
giant  stared  at  him.  "  You  know  me?  "  he  gasped. 
"  Your  varlets  thumped  me  yesterday,"  Villon  an- 
swered. "  I  shall  tickle  you  to-day.  Turn,  turn 
about,  friend  Thibaut." 

Even  as  he  spoke  Guy  Tabarie  puffed  out  the  last 
candle  left  alight  in  the  room,  which  was  plunged 
instantly  into  almost  total  darkness.  Even  the 
faint  moonlight  that  had  come  through  the  window 
was  swiftly  veiled  by  Huguette,  who  drew  the  crim- 
son curtains  close  together.  The  dim  light  from  the 
fire  only  seemed  to  accentuate  and  intensify  the 
darkness  through  which  the  two  lanterns  burned, 
pale  planets  of  yellow  fire,  in  the  hands  of  Casin  and 
Colin.  Villon  snatched  the  one  and  Thibaut  took 
the  other.  There  was  a  moment  of  intense  silence; 
then  the  voice  of  Huguette  cried  out  of  the  black- 
ness: "Are  you  ready?  " 

Both  combatants  cried,  "Yes!"  in  the  same 
breath,  and  in  the  next  the  battle  began. 

No  stranger  fight  had  ever  been  fought  within 
those  walls  before,  or  even  perhaps  within  the  walls 
of  Paris.  In  the  dense  obscurity  the  two  antago- 
nists groped  for  each  other,  alternately  guided  and 
baffled  by  the  light  of  the  lanterns,  as  their  holder 
lifted  his  light  suddenly  in  the  air  or  dexterously 

85 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

concealed  it  under  the  fold  of  his  mantle.  Every 
now  and  then  the  swords  would  meet  with  a  clash, 
there  would  be  a  hurried  exchange  of  thrust  and 
blow,  and  then  the  adversaries  would  drift  back 
again  to  grope  and  gleam  and  seek  each  other  anew, 
their  lanterns  flashing  and  disappearing  like  ac- 
centuated glow-worms,  and  their  blades  now  shining 
in  sudden  illumination  like  streaks  of  blue  lightning 
across  the  blackness  and  now  invisible  even  to  those 
who  held  them  in  their  hands. 

Tristan  had  in  vain  endeavoured  to  persuade  the 
king  to  leave  before  the  preliminaries  for  the  fan- 
tastic strife  had  been  completed,  but  Louis  was  firm 
in  his  determination  to  remain. 

"  I  would  not  miss  this  for  the  world,  man,"  he 
had  insisted.  All  his  childlike  delight  in  the  ad- 
venturous was  being  sated  to  the  full  this  evening, 
and  there  was  no  happier  man  at  that  moment  in  the 
kingdom  than  the  man  who  by  strange  fortune  was 
its  king. 

The  fight  persisted  for  some  minutes  that  seemed 
like  hours  to  more  than  one  of  the  anxious  specta- 
tors. Now  the  room  would  be  steeped  in  the  deep- 
est silence,  and  now,  as  the  revealed  lantern  glowed 
and  the  nailed  weapons  met,  some  woman's  scream 
or  some  man's  suppressed  oath  would  fill  the  place 
with  a  sense  of  watching,  eager  humanity. 

86 


ENTER   THIBAUT 

Suddenly,  when  the  tension  of  watcher  and 
watched  was  keenest,  there  came  a  mighty  crashing 
at  the  door  and  a  voice  shouted  loudly  a  summons 
to  open  in  the  king's  name. 

Tristan  knew  well  enough  what  the  summons 
meant.  "  It  is  the  watch,  sire,"  he  whispered  to  the 
king. 

Thibaut  too,  groping  for  his  nimble  antagonist 
and  beginning  to  despair  of  crushing  the  man,  heard 
and  understood  the  summons.  He  was  tired  of  the 
baffling  struggle. 

"  Open  the  door!  "  he  shouted  noisily,  and  the  cry 
stirred  Villon  to  a  more  vehement  assault.  He 
sprang  like  a  cat  at  the  gianfr,  flashed  the  lantera 
dazzlingly  in  his  eyes,  and  as  Thibaut,  furious,  made 
a  wild  lunge  at  him,  Villon  dexterously  swung  his 
lantern  on  to  his  enemy's  sword  point  and  in  another 
second  had  driven  his  own  blade  into  Thibaut's  side. 

"  Not  so  fast,  rat-catcher! "  he  shouted  exultantly, 
and  as  Thibaut  fell  with  a  heavy  crash  of  rattling 
armour  on  the  floor,  the  door  was  dashed  open  and 
the  armed  watch  poured  in  with  blazing  torches, 
filling  the  room  with  light  and  armoured  men. 
Francois,  after  a  moment's  glance  of  triumph  at  the 
fallen  giant,  sprang  round  and  glanced  up  at  the 
gallery. 

87, 


IF   I  WERE   KING 

Katherine,  standing,  leaned  over  the  balustrade 
and  flung  a  knot  of  ribbon  to  her  champion,  who 
caught  it  as  it  skimmed  through  the  air,  pressed  it 
to  his  lips  and  thrust  it  into  the  bosom  of  his  jerkin. 
In  another  moment  Katherine  had  disappeared  and 
Villon  found  himself  roughly  held  in  the  strong 
grasp  of  two  soldiers,  while  the  captain  of  the  watch 
surveyed  the  scene  with  some  astonishment,  and  the 
rogues  were  overawed  by  the  bills  of  the  new-comers. 

"  What  is  this  tumult?  "  the  captain  demanded. 
Villon  answered  him  airily,  smiling  over  the  crossed 
pikes  that  penned  him. 

"  A  fair  fight,  good  captain,  conducted  according 
to  the  honourable  laws  of  sword  and  lantern." 

The  captain  of  the  watch  turned  his  attention  to 
Thibaut,  who,  assisted  by  one  of  the  soldiers,  had 
raised  himself  upon  one  elbow  and  was  glaring  vin- 
dictively at  Villon. 

"  Who  is  this  man?  "  he  asked. 

A  desire,  for  revenge  got  the  better  of  the  wounded 
man's  discretion. 

"  I  am  Thibaut  d'Aussigny,"  he  gasped.  "  I  am 
the  Grand  Constable." 

A  little  shiver  of  surprise  and  alarm  ran  round 
the  room  at  the  sound  of  that  dreaded  name.  The 
captain  of  the  watch  kneeled  in  salutation. 

88 


ENTER   THIBAUT 

"  Monseigneur,"  he  said,  "  how  did  this  happen?  " 
Thibaut's  senses  were  running  away  from  him 
with  his  running  blood,  but  malignity  overcrowed 
weakness  for  a  moment.  He  pointed  at  Villon. 
"  Take  that  fellow  and  hang  him  on  the  nearest  lan- 
tern," and  as  he  spoke  he  swooned.  Promptly  the 
captain  turned  towards  his  prisoner.  "  Take  that 
fellow  outside  and  hang  him,"  he  commanded  curtly. 
.Villon  glanced  wildly  about  for  a  way  to  escape  and 
saw  none.  His  friends  gave  a  groan  of  sympathy, 
but  they  could  do  no  more,  for  the  soldiers  overawed 
them.  Huguette  flung  her  arms  about  him,  sobbing. 
The  grasp  of  his  captors  tightened  and  Villon  shiv- 
ered at  the  clasp.  Suddenly  the  little  insignificant 
burgess  at  the  table  rose  and  advanced  towards  the 
soldier. 

"  Stop,  sir,"  he  said  imperatively.  "  That  young 
gentleman  is  my  affair."  The  soldier  turned  angrily 
upon  the  interfering  citizen. 

"  Who  are  you,"  he  growled,  "  who  dare  to  inter- 
fere with  the  king's  justice?  " 

The  citizen  pulled  his  heavy  cap  from  his  head  and 
revealed  the  wrinkled,  eager  visage  that  was  so  well 
known  and  so  well  feared. 

"  I  am  the  king's  justice,"  he  said  simply,  while 
Tristan  behind  him  cried  "  God  save  the  king! "  and 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

the  astonished  soldier  bent  the  knee  in  homage. 
Villon,  staring,  dumfounded,  caught  the  humour  of 
the  situation  and  could  not  hold  his  tongue. 

"  The  king!    Good  Lord!  "  he  said,  and  punctuated 
his  comment  with  a  prolonged  whistle. 


CHAPTER   V 
THE  VOICES  OF  THE  STARS 

KlNG  LOUIS  loved  roses.  All  that  was  royal  in  his 
nature  went  out  to  the  royal  flower;  whatever  desire 
of  beauty  lay  hidden  in  his  heart  found  its  gratifica- 
tion in  its  splendid  colours,  in  its  splendid  odours. 
The  Greeks  believed  that  the  red  rose  only  came  into 
being  on  the  fair  day  when  Venus,  seeing  Ascanius 
slumbering  on  a  bed  of  white  roses,  pressed  hands- 
ful  of  the  blossoms  to  her  lips,  and  the  pale  petals 
blushed  into  their  crimson  loveliness  beneath  the 
kisses  of  the  goddess.  Louis  the  Eleventh  knew 
nothing  of  the  legend,  but  the  red  rose  was  his  fancy 
and  a  corner  of  the  royal  garden  was  dedicated  to 
its  service.  In  the  oldest  part  of  the  palace,  hard 
by  the  grey  and  ancient  tower  where  the  king  loved 
to  out-watch  the  stars  and  to  brood  over  strange 
wisdom,  overlooked  by  a  terrace  whose  very  steps 
were  littered  with  petals,  the  caressed  earth  glowed 
into  a  very  miracle  of  roses.  Every  shade  of  red 
that  a  rose  can  wear  was  represented  in  that  daz- 
zling pleasaunce,  from  the  faint  pink  that  surely 
the  lips  of  divinity  had  scarcely  brushed  to  the  smil- 
ing scarlet  that  suggested  Aphrodite's  mouth,  from 

91 


IF   I   WERE   RING 

the  imperial  purple  of  a  Cesar's  pomp  to  the  crim- 
son so  deep  that  it  was  almost  black,  black  as  the 
congealed  blood  on  the  torn  thigh  of  Adonis.  Here, 
when  the  stars  eluded  or  deceived  him,  King  Louis 
would  come,  creeping  down  the  winding  stairs  of  his 
tower,  with  the  names  of  saints  upon  his  thin  lips, 
to  breathe  the  sunlit  or  moonlit  fragrance  of  his 
roses,  to  seek  a  little  rest  for  his  restless  mind,  a 
little  quiet  for  his  unquiet  heart. 

On  the  morning  after  his  visit  to  the  Fircone 
Tavern  King  Louis  sat  in  his  rose  garden  and  snuffed 
the  scented  air  with  pleasure,  while  his  keen  eyes 
shifted  from  a  scroll  of  parchment  on  his  knee  to 
the  face  of  one  who  stood  beside  him,  and  spoke  in  a 
low  voice,  pointing  as  he  spoke  to  marks  and  figures 
on  the  outspread  parchment.  The  king's  companion 
kwas  an  old  man  in  a  furred  gown,  whose  countenance 
,was  seamed  with  years  and  study,  and  whose  eyes 
seemed  always  to  be  gazing  at  objects  that  others 
could  not  see.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  a  large 
sphere  of  crystal,  and  whenever  the  king  lapsed  into 
silent  study  of  his  scroll  the  sage  would  lift  the 
shining  globe  and  gaze  into  its  glassy  depths  with 
an  air  of  exaggerated  wisdom. 

From  one  of  these  moments  of  abstraction  the 
king  suddenly  looked  up,  and  immediately  the 

92 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

astrologer's  glance  swung  from  the  sphere  to  the 
face  of  Louis. 

"  You  know  the  aspect  of  the  planetary  bodies," 
said  the  king,  "  and  you  know  of  the  strange  dream 
that  I  have  dreamed  three  nights  running." 

The  sage  inclined  his  head  gravely.  The  king  had 
told  him  of  the  dream  in  all  its  particulars  at  least 
a  dozen  times  that  morning.  It  seemed  to  be  mixed 
up  with  the  sunlight  and  the  scent  of  the  roses;  to 
be  a  portion  of  the  chorus  of  the  birds.  But  he 
listened  to  the  narrative  with  the  same  air  of  sur- 
prised attention  that  he  had  offered  to  its  first 
recital. 

"  I  dreamed  that  I  was  a  swine  rooting  in  the 
streets  of  Paris,  and  that  I  found  a  pearl  of  great 
price  in  the  gutter.  I  set  it  in  my  crown  and  it 
filled  all  Paris  with  its  light.  But  it  seemed  to 
grow  so  heavy  for  my  forehead  that  I  cast  it  from 
me  and  would  have  trodden  it  into  the  earth,  but 
that  a  star  fell  from  heaven  and  stayed  me,  and  I 
awoke  trembling." 

The  king's  nasal  voice  droned  through  the 
familiar  repetition;  then  he  suddenly  turned  his 
head  with  a  kind  of  bird-like  alacrity  upon  the  as- 
trologer and  asked  sharply:  "Well,  what  do  you 
make  of  it?  " 

93 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

The  astrologer  shook  his  head.  "The  stars  are 
bright,"  he  said  slowly,  "  but  their  brightness  is  be- 
wildering to  mortal  eyes  and  it  is  hard  to  read  be- 
tween the  lines  of  their  effulgence.  Dreams  are 
dim,  and  it  is  difficult  for  mortal  minds  to  interpret 
their  obscurity." 

The  king  frowned.  "I  know  well  enough,"  he 
said,  "that  stars  are  bright  and  that  dreams  are 
dim,  but  your  wisdom  is  clothed  and  housed  and 
nourished  for  deeper  knowledge  than  this.  Inter- 
pret my  dream  for  France  as  Joseph  interpreted  the 
vision  of  the  Egyptian." 

With  an  unmoved  face  the  astrologer  scanned  the 
crystal.  "  Thus  I  seem  to  read  the  riddle  of  your 
dream,  sire,"  he  answered.  "There  is  one  in  the 
depths  who,  if  exalted  to  the  heights,  might  do  you 
great  service  and  who  yet  might  irk  you  so  greatly 
that  you  would  seek  to  cast  him  back  again  into  the 
depths  from  which  he  rose.  The  stars  seem  to  speak 
of  such  a  coming,  and,  as  it  seems  to  me,  this 
stranger  should  have  potent  influence  for  good  for  a 
period  of  seven  days  from  this  day.  I  have  sought 
and  sought  in  vain  to  see  something  of  this  man  in 
the  crystal.  I  only  see  confusedly  great  crowds  of 
people,  pageants  and  masques,  and  movings  of  many 
soldiers,  battle  and  bloodshed,  and  great  victory  for 

94 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

France — and  then  a  star  falls  from  heaven  and  all 
the  vision  vanishes." 

The  king  was  silent  for  a  moment;  then  with  an 
imperative  gesture  he  dismissed  the  astrologer,  who 
entered  the  tower  and  climbed  the  winding  stairs 
to  the  room  where  he  pursued  his  occult  studies. 
The  king  walked  restlessly  up  and  down,  indiffer- 
ent to  the  roses,  thinking  only  of  the  stars. 

"  If  Frangois  Villon  were  the  king  of  France," 
he  muttered.  "  How  that  mad  ballad  maker  glowed 
last  night.  Fools  are  proverbially  fortunate,  and  a 
mad  man  may  save  Paris  for  me  as  a  mad  maid 
saved  France  for  my  sire." 

A  heavy  tread  behind  him  stirred  him  from  his 
meditations.  Turning,  he  beheld  the  companion  of 
his  adventure  of  the  previous  evening. 

"Well,  Tristan?"  he  questioned  apprehensively, 
for  Tristan  had  the  evil  smile  on  his  face  which 
he  always  wore  when  he  had  news  of  any  disagree- 
able kind  to  impart. 

"The  bird  has  flown,  sire,"  he  said.  "Thibaut 
'd'Aussigny's  wound  was  much  slighter  than  we 
thought  last  night.  After  we  carried  him  to  his 
house,  he  made  his  escape  thence  in  disguise,  and 
has,  as  I  believe,  fled  from  Paris  to  join  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy." 

95 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

The  king  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently. 

"  I  wish  the  duke  joy  of  him,"  he  said.  "  He  is 
more  dangerous  to  my  enemy  when  he  is  on  my 
enemy's  side.  Where  are  the  rascals  of  last  night?  " 

"The  tavern  rabble  are  in  custody  of  Messire 
Noel." 

"  And  my  rival  for  royalty?  " 

"  Barber  Olivier  has  charge  of  him.  I  would  have 
hanged  the  rogue  out  of  hand." 

"  Your  turn  will  come,  gossip,  never  doubt  it.  But 
the  stars  warn  me  that  I  need  this  rhyming  raga- 
muffin. There  is  a  tale  of  Haroun  al  Raschid " 

Tristan  stifled  a  yawn  and  a  sneer.  "  Another 
tale,  sire,"  he  said  with  something  like  piteous  pro- 
test, for  the  king's  tales  did  not  always  entertain 
Tristan. 

Louis  went  on,  however,  indifferent  to  his  com- 
panion's feelings: 

"  How  he  picked  a  drunken  rascal  from  the  streets 
and  took  him  to  his  palace.  When  the  rascal  woke 
sober,  the  courtiers  persuaded  him  that  he  was  the 
Caliph,  and  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful  found 
great  sport  in  his  behaviour.  I  promise  myself  a 
like  diversion." 

Tristan  stared  in  surprise.  This  form  of  enter- 
tainment was  new  to  him  and  did  not  seem  to  be 
particularly  amusing. 

96 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

"  Are  you  going  to  let  him  think  he  is  king, 
sire?  "  he  asked. 

A  queer  smile  wrinkled  the  king's  malign  face. 

"  Not  quite,"  he  said.  "  When  he  wakes,  he  is  to 
be  assured  that  he  is  the  Count  of  Montcorbier  and 
Grand  Constable  of  France.  His  antics  may  amuse 
me,  his  lucky  star  may  serve  me,  and  his  winning 
tongue  may  help  to  avenge  me  on  a  certain  froward 
maid,  who  disdained  me.  Send  me  here  Olivier." 

Tristan  bowed  gravely  and  turned  on  his  heel.  In 
his  heart  he  was  inclined  to  a  kind  of  contempt  for 
the  monarch's  humours.  When  there  was  a  chance 
of  hanging  a  man,  it  seemed  to  him  a  waste  of  time 
to  play  the  fool  in  this  fashion.  The  cat  and  mouse 
policy  was  never  Tristan's  way.  He  was  ever  for  the 
dog's  way  with  the  rat. 

Louis  resumed  his  restless  walk  with  his  hands 
folded  behind  him  and  his  head  thrust  forward  as 
if  he  were  scanning  the  ground  for  some  lost  object. 
His  mind  was  busy  revolving  many  thoughts.  He 
knew  very  well  how  precarious  his  position  was, 
how  unpopular  he  was  witli  his  people,  how  strong 
were  the  forces  that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  had 
arrayed  against  him,  how  little  he  could  count  upon 
the  allegiance  of  the  people  of  Paris  if  once  the 
enemy  were  able  to  put  a  foot  within  the  walls  of 

07 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

the  capital  city.  He  was  very  ambitious,  he  was 
very  confident,  he  was  very  brave,  and  yet  he  felt 
that  ambition,  confidence  and  courage  were  not 
enough  at  that  crisis  to  give  his  throne  support.  The 
superstitious  side  of  his  nature  turned  restlessly  to 
the  unknown  and  his  spirit  dived  into  crystals  or 
soared  among  the  spinning  planets,  struggling  for 
occult  enlightenment.  To  the  superstitious,  trifles 
are  the  giants  of  destiny,  and  the  king's  escapade 
of  the  previous  evening  had  taken  a  firm  hold  on 
his  fancy.  The  picturesque  blackguard  who  had 
mouthed  so  gallantly  his  desire  to  reign  over  France 
and  save  her  would  in  any  case  have  tickled  the 
king's  taste  for  the  eccentric,  but  when  the  en- 
counter with  the  poet  came  upon  the  heels  of  the 
king's  strange  dream  and  was  followed  by  the  vague 
prognostications  of  the  star-gazer,  the  business 
loomed  majestic  in  his  eyes.  He  had  always  before 
his  mind  the  memory  of  the  radiant,  saintly  maiden 
who  had  come  like  a  messenger  from  heaven  to  help 
his  father  when  his  father's  fortunes  seemed  to  be  in 
the  very  dust,  and  it  was  in  all  seriousness  that  he 
permitted  himself  to  hope  and  almost  to  believe  that 
some  such  succour  might  be  vouchsafed  him  from  the 
fantastic  rhymester  who  had  so  lately  hectored  him 
in  the  Fircone  Tavern.  As  the  king  lifted  his  eyes 

98 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE  STARS 

a  fairer  form  than  that  of  Villon's  was  impressed 
upon  his  consciousness  and  yet  the  sight  only  served 
to  strengthen  the  current  of  the  king's  thoughts. 

A  very  beautiful  girl,  tall,  stately,  imperious,  was 
coming  down  one  of  the  roseways  with  her  arms  full 
of  the  great  crimson  blossoms.  If  the  king  had  been 
a  scholar  in  the  learning  of  the  Greeks  he  would  have 
compared  the  girl  to  some  one  of  the  glorious  god- 
desses of  the  Hellenic  Pantheon.  As  it  was,  he  was 
merely  aware  in  a  fierce  way  that  the  girl  was  very 
beautiful,  that  her  beauty  appealed  to  him  very 
keenly,  and  stirred  in  him  a  keen  sense  of  resent- 
ment at  his  slighted  homage.  This  girl,  whom 
Thibaut  d'Aussigny  wanted  to  marry,  this  girl 
whom  the  king  coveted,  this  girl  whom  the  mad  poet 
worshipped,  what  part  would  she  play  in  the  fan- 
tastic comedy  which  was  gradually  shaping  itself 
in  the  distorted  mind  of  Louis?  Katherine  de 
Vaucelles  saw  the  king,  and  dropped  him  a  stately 
curtsey. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  girl?  "  Louis  asked. 

She  answered  quietly,  "  To  her  majesty,  sire,  who 
bade  me  gather  roses." 

"  Give  me  one,"  said  the  king,  and  then  as  the  girl 
handed  him  one  of  the  longest  and  reddest  of  her 
splendid  cargo,  the  king  lightly  swaying  the  flower, 

99 


IF   I   WERE    KING 

brushed  the  girl's  flower  face  with  it  and  surveyed 
her  mockingly. 

"  You  are  a  pretty  child,"  he  said.  "  You  might 
have  had  a  king's  love.  Well,  well,  you  were  a  fool. 
Does  not  Thibaut  d'Aussigny  woo  you?" 

"  He  professes  to  love  me,  sire,  and  I  profess  to 
hate  him." 

"  He  was  sorely  wounded  last  night  in  a  tavern 
scuffle." 

The  girl  gave  a  little  cry  of  disappointment. 

"  Only  wounded,  sire?  " 

The  king  laughed  heartily. 

"  Your  solicitude  is  adorable.  Be  of  cheer.  He 
may  recover.  And  we  have  clapped  hands  on  his 
assassin.  He  shall  pay  the  penalty." 

Katherine  drew  a  little  nearer  to  the  king.  Her 
eyes  were  very  eager,  and  there  was  eagerness  in 
the  tones  of  her  voice. 

"  Sire,  I  bear  this  man  no  malice  for  hurting 
Thibaut  d'Aussigny." 

"  You  are  clemency  itself.  It  would  never  do  to 
have  a  woman  on  the  throne.  But  to  hurt  a  great 
lord  is  to  hurt  the  whole  body  politic.  He  shall 
swing  for  it." 

The  girl  frowned  slightly: 

"This  man  should  not  die,  sire.  Thibaut  was  a 
traitor,  a  villain " 

100 


"To  her  Majesty,  sire,  who  bade  me  gather  rose*.' 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

Louis'  mirth  deepened  but  he  kept  the  gravity  of 
his  speech. 

"  Take  care,  sweeting,  lest  you  wade  out  of  your 
depth.  But  you  women  are  fountains  of  compassion. 
If  this  knave's  life  interests  you,  plead  for  it  to  my 
lord  the  Grand  Constable." 

The  girl  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  Thibaut  is  pitiless,"  she  said.  Her  mouth  hard- 
ened as  she  thought  of  the  man  she  hated  and  of 
her  own  failure  to  thrust  him  from  her  path,  but  it 
softened  again  on  the  next  words  of  the  king. 

"  Thibaut  is  no  longer  in  office.  Try  your  luck 
with  his  successor." 

She  leaned  forward  beseechingly. 

"  His  name,  sire?  " 

Louis  looked  at  her  thoughtfully. 

"  He  is  the  Count  of  Montcorbier,"  he  said.  "  He 
is  a  stranger  in  our  court,  but  he  has  found  a  lodg- 
ing in  my  heart.  He  came  under  safe  conduct  from 
the  South  last  night.  He  is  recommended  to  me 
highly  by  our  brother  of  Provence.  I  believe  he 
will  serve  me  well,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  always 
be  lenient  to  loveliness." 

The  king  smiled  affably  as  the  ready  lies  slipped 
smoothly  from  his  lips.  He  was  amusing  himself 
immensely  with  the  threads  of  the  fairy  tale  he  was 
spinning. 

101 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"  You  shall  have  audience  with  him."  The  king 
paused.  He  caught  sight  on  the  steps  of  the  dark 
familiar  figure  of  the  royal  barber,  who  was  ap- 
proaching him  deferentially.  He  called  to  him : 

"Olivier,  by  and  by,  when  my  Lord  of  Mont- 
corbier  takes  the  air  in  the  garden,  bring  this  lady 
to  him.  You  understand?  " 

He  turned  to  Katherine  again  and  once  more 
tickled  her  chin  with  the  swaying  rose. 

"Now,  go,  girl,  or  my  wife  and  your  queen  will 
be  wanting  her  roses." 

Katherine  again  saluted  the  king  and  went  slowly 
up  the  steps  into  the  palace.  Louis  watched  her  as 
she  went,  watched  her  until  she  was  out  of  sight, 
and  then  turned  sharply  upon  his  servant. 

"Well,  goodman  barber,  what  of  Francois 
Villon?" 

"  A  pot  of  drugged  wine  last  night  sent  him  to 
sleep  in  a  prison.  This  morning  he  woke  in  a  palace, 
lapped  in  the  linen  of  a  royal  bed.  He  has  been 
washed  and  barbered,  sumptuously  dressed  and 
rarely  perfumed.  He  is  so  changed  that  his  dearest 
friend  would  not  know  him  again.  He  does  not 
seem  to  know  himself.  He  carries  himself  as  if  he 
had  been  a  courtier  all  his  days." 

The  king  chuckled. 

102 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE  STARS 

"  I  have  little  doubt  that  when  the  jackass  wore 
the  lion's  skin  he  thought  himself  the  lion.  But  is 
he  not  amazed?" 

"  Too  much  amazed,  sire,  to  betray  amazement. 
His  attendants  assure  him,  with  the  gravest  faces, 
that  he  is  the  Grand  Constable  of  France.  I  believe 
he  thinks  himself  in  a  dream,  and,  finding  the  dream 
delicate,  accepts  it." 

"  Remember,"  said  Louis,  "  to  keep  to  the  tale. 
This  fellow  came  here  from  Provence  last  night. 
None  must  know  who  he  is  save  you  and  I  and 
Tristan.  Blow  it  about  to  all  the  court  that  he  is 
the  Count  of  Montcorbier,  the  favourite  of  our 
brother  of  Provence,  and  now  my  friend  and  coun- 
sellor. I  have  a  liking  for  you,  Olivier,  as  you  know, 
and  Tristan  and  I  are  very  good  friends,  but  neither 
of  your  heads  are  safe  on  their  shoulders  if  this  sport 
of  mine  be  spoiled  by  indiscretions." 

Olivier  bowed  deeply. 

"  I  cannot  speak  for  Tristan,  sire,"  he  said,  "  but 
I  can  speak  for  myself.  The  God  Harpocrates  is 
not  more  symbolical  of  silence  than  I  when  it  is  my 
business  to  hold  my  tongue." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Louis.  "I  will  answer  for  Tris- 
tan. Have  this  fellow  sent  to  me  here." 

With  another  reverence  Olivier  left  the  king  and 


IF  1  WERE   KU\G 

ascended  the  steps  into  the  palace.  The  king  sniffed 
pensively  at  the  rose  which  Katherine  had  given 
to  him.  The  perfume  seemed  to  sooth  him  and  he 
mused,  sunning  himself  and  feeding  his  fancy  with 
the  entertainment  which  playing  with  the  lives  of 
others  always  afforded  to  him. 

"This  Jack  and  Jill  shall  dance  to  my  whimsy 
like  dolls  upon  a  wire.  It  would  be  rare  sport  if 
Mistress  Katherine  disdained  Louis  to  decline  upon 
this  beggar.  He  shall  hang  for  mocking  me.  But 
he  carried  himself  like  a  king  for  all  his  tatters  and 
patches,  and  he  shall  taste  of  splendour." 

Glancing  up  at  -the  terrace  he  perceived  the  re- 
turning figure  of  Olivier  le  Dain,  and  guessed  that 
his  henchman  was  serving  as  herald  to  the  new 
Grand  Constable.  Behind  Olivier  came  a  little  clus- 
ter of  pages,  and  behind  them  again  the  king  could 
see  a  shining  figure  in  cloth  of  gold. 

"Here  comes  my  mountebank,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  as  pompous  as  if  he  were  born  to  the  purple." 
He  moved  swiftly  to  the  door  of  the  tower 
and  entered  it,  disappearing  as  the  little  procession 
descended  the  steps  into  the  Rose  Garden.  There 
was  a  little  grating  in  the  door  of  the  tower,  a  little 
grating  with  a  sliding  shutter,  and  through  this 
grating  the  king  now  peered  with  infinite 

104 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

entertainment  at  the  progress  of  the  comedy  himself 
had  planned.  Olivier  had  spoken  truly  when  he  said 
that  Master  Villon  had  been  greatly  changed.  The 
barber's  own  handiwork  had  so  cleansed  and  shaved 
his  countenance,  had  so  trimmed  and  readjusted  his 
locks  that  his  face  now  shone  as  different  from  the 
face  of  the  tavern-haunter  as  the  face  of  the  moon 
shines  from  the  face  of  a  lantern.  He  was  as 
sumptuously  attired  as  if  he  were  a  prince  of  the 
blood  royal:  the  noonday  sun  seemed  to  take  fresh 
lustre  from  his  suit  of  cloth  of  gold,  the  air  to  be 
enriched  by  his  perfume,  the  world  to  be  vastly  the 
better  for  his  furs  and  jewels.  Though  it  was  plain 
that  the  tricked-out  poet  was  in  a  desperate  dilemma 
he  managed  to  bear  himself  with  a  dignity  that 
consorted  royally  with  his  pomp.  Olivier  bowed 
low  to  the  figure  in  cloth  of  gold. 

"  Will  your  dignity  deign  to  linger  awhile  in  this 
rose  arbour?  "  he  asked. 

The  gentleman  in  cloth  of  gold  looked  at  him  in 
wonder.  In  truth,  the  gentleman  in  cloth  of  gold 
was  in  a  very  bewildered  frame  of  mind.  He  had 
seen  but  now  a  clean  and  smooth-shaven  face  in  the 
mirror,  with  elegantly  trimmed  hair,  and  he  tried  to 
associate  the  image  in  the  mirror  with  his  own 
familiar  face,  unwashed,  unkempt,  unshaven.  He 

105 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

eyed  the  splendid  clothes  that  covered  him  and  his 
memory  fumbled  in  perplexity  over  the  horrors  of 
a  dingy,  filthy  wardrobe,  ragged,  wine-stained  and 
ancient.  He  looked  at  the  solemn  pages  who 
stood  about  him  with  golden  cups  and  golden  flag- 
ons in  their  hands,  and  he  tried  to  remember  how 
he  had  escaped  from  the  society  of  Master  Robin 
Turgis  into  this  gilded  environment.  His  head 
ached  with  the  endeavour  and  he  abandoned  it. 
Olivier  repeated  his  question,  and  at  last  Villon 
found  words,  though  his  voice  sounded  strange  and 
hollow  on  his  ears,  and  hard  to  command. 

"  My  dignity  will  deign  to  do  anything  you  sug- 
gest, good  master  Blackamoor,"  he  answered,  but 
to  his  heart  he  whispered  that  it  was  better  to  hu- 
mour these  strange  satellites  whose  persons  he  found 
it  impossible  to  reconcile  with  any  memories  of  the 
real  world  as  he  knew  it.  The  barber  bowed  defer- 
entially. 

"  I  shall  have  to  trouble  you  presently  with  cer- 
tain small  cares  of  state,"  he  said. 

Villon  beamed  on  him  benignly.  He  was  wonder- 
ing what  his  interlocutor  was  talking  about,  but  he 
felt  that  it  was  the  course  of  the  wise  man  to  betray 
no  wonder.  The  conditions  were,  indeed,  bewilder- 
ing, but  also  they  were  not  disagreeable,  and  it  was 
as  well  to  take  them  cheerfully. 

106 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE  STARS 

"No  trouble,  excellent  myrmidon,"  he  answered. 
"These  duties  are  pleasures  to  your  true  man." 

Olivier  bowed  anew. 

"  His  majesty  will  probably  honour  you  with  his 
company  later." 

.Villon  beamed  again,  and  again  his  wonder  found 
words  which  seemed  to  him  to  make  the  most  and 
the  best  of  the  situation.  Perhaps  in  this  singular 
region  of  dreams  he  was  the  king's  man  and  the 
king's  friend.  At  least  it  could  do  no  harm  to  as- 
sume such  friendship  when  his  solemn  companion 
seemed  to  take  it  for  granted. 

"Always  delighted  to  see  dear  Louis.  He  and  I 
are  very  good  friends.  People  say  hard  things  of 
him,  but  believe  me,  they  don't  know  him." 

He  was  trying  his  best  to  piece  together  the  dis- 
ordered fragments  of  his  memory  and  to  explain  to 
himself  how  it  came  to  pass  that  he  was  on  terms  of 
friendship  with  the  king.  His  head  was  dizzy  and 
heavy  and  he  felt  like  a  man  in  a  dark  room  who 
was  groping  to  find  the  door  handle.  The  voice  of 
the  barber  interrupted  these  mental  struggles. 

"  May  we  take  our  leave,  monseigneur?  " 

Villon's  face  lighted.  He  felt  that  it  would  be 
pleasanter  for  him  to  be  alone  while  he  was  attempt- 
ing to  regain  control  of  his  faculties,  more  espe- 

107 


IF   I   WERE   KING 

cially  as  he  noted  that  the  pages  had  placed  their 
golden  cups  and  flagons  on  the  marble  table  and 
that  his  instinct  assured  him  that  these  precious 
vessels  sheltered  no  less  precious  wine. 

"  You  may,  you  may,"  he  assented,  and  then  as 
the  barber  made  to  depart,  Villon's  mood  changed 
and  he  caught  him  by  the  sleeve  and  drew  him 
confidentially  toward  him. 

"  Stay  one  moment,"  he  murmured.  "  You  know 
this  plaguy  memory  of  mine — what  a  forgetful  fel- 
low I  am.  Would  you  mind  telling  me  again  who 
I  happen  to  be?  " 

No  look  of  surprise  stirred  the  barber's  face;  there 
came  no  change  in  his  extreme  complaisance. 

"  You  are  the  Count  of  Montcorbier,  monseig 
neur,"  he  answered,  gravely.  "  You  have  just  ar- 
rived in  Paris  from  the  Court  of  Provence,  where 
you  stood  in  high  favour  with  the  king  of  that  coun- 
try, but  your  favour  is,  I  believe,  greater  with  the 
King  of  France,  for  he  has  been  pleased  to  make  you 
Grand  Constable.  It  is  his  majesty's  wish  that  you 
contrive  to  remember  this." 

Villon  laughed  a  laugh  which  he  tried  hard  to 
make  hearty  and  natural,  but  with  indifferent 
success. 

"Of  course,  it  was  most  foolish  of  me  to  forget. 

108 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

Wow,  I  suppose,  good  master  Long-toes,  that  a  per- 
son in  my  exalted  rank  has  a  good  deal  of  power, 
influence,  authority,  and  what  not?  " 

"  With  the  king's  favour,  you  are  the  first  man  in 
the  realm." 

Villon  gave  a  gasp  of  gratification.  The  dream 
was  growing  in  glory. 

"  Quite  so.  And  does  my  exalted  position  carry 
with  it  any  agreeable  perquisite  in  the  way  of 
pocket  money?  " 

"  If  you  will  dip  your  finger  in  your  pouch — " 
Olivier  suggested,  pointing  a  thin  forefinger  at  Vil- 
lon's jewelled  belt. 

Villon  thrust  his  fingers  into  the  pocket  that  hung 
from  it  and  brought  them  out  again  loaded  with 
great  golden  coins,  bright  and  clear  from  the  mint, 
that  gleamed  joyously  in  the  sunlight.  He  gave  a 
little  cry  of  delight  as  he  let  them  run  in  a  shining 
stream  from  hollowed  hand  to  hollowed  hand,  and 
contemplated  their  jingle  and  glitter  with  the  de- 
light of  a  new  Midas.  But  the  first  thought  that 
welled  up  in  his  heart  to  welcome  this  strange 
wealth  was  bravely  unselfish. 

"  Gold  counters,  on  my  honour.  Dear  drops  from 
the  divine  stream  of  Pactolus.  Good  sir,  will  you 
straightway  despatch  some  one  you  can  trust  with 

109 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

a  handful  of  these  broad  pieces  to  the  Church  of  the 
Celestins  and  inquire  of  the  beadle  there  for  the 
dwelling  of  Mother  Villon,  a  poor  old  woman,  sorely 
plagued  with  a  scapegrace  son?  Let  him  seek  her 
out — she  dwells  in  the  seventh  story  and  therefore 
the  nearer  to  the  Heaven  she  deserves — and  give 
her  these  coins  that  she  may  buy  herself  food, 
clothes  and  firing." 

He  was  too  confused  to  reason  clearly  with  his 
situation,  but  he  felt  sure  that  whoever  he  was  and 
wherever  he  was  in  this  amazing  dream  of  his,  the 
poor  old  woman  whom  he  loved  so  well  must  needs 
be  in  it  and  might  benefit  by  this  gift  of  fairy  gold. 

Olivier  bowed  deferentially. 

"  It  shall  be  done,"  he  said,  transferring  the  great 
gold  discs  to  his  own  pocket.  Then  pointing  to  a 
small  golden  bell  which  one  of  the  pages  had  placed 
upon  the  table,  he  added,  "If  there  be  anything  your 
dignity  should  desire,  he  has  only  to  strike  upon  this 
bell." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  Villon  responded  solemnly, 
and  on  the  phrase  Olivier  and  the  pages  withdrew 
into  the  palace  with  every  sign  of  the  most  profound 
respect  The  king  at  his  peep-hole  was  pleased  to  ob- 
serve that  his  commands  were  being  obeyed  most 
strictly  and  that  no  hint  of  any  secret  mirth,  no 

110 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STABS 

obvious  consciousness  of  a  hidden  joke  marred  for 
one  moment  the  monumental  gravity  of  the  parts 
which  Olivier  and  the  pages  had  to  play. 

As  soon  as  Villon  found  himself  alone  he  looked 
cautiously  around  him,  comprehending  in  his  as- 
tonished glance  the  grey  walls  of  the  palace,  the 
moss-grown  terrace,  the  petal-strewn  steps,  the  old^ 
stern  tower  with  its  ominous  sun  dial,  and  the 
wealth  of  wonderful  roses  all  about  him,  making  the 
air  a  very  paradise  of  exquisite  colours  and  exquisite 
odours.  He  shut  his  eyes  for  a  few  seconds  and  then 
opened  them  sharply  as  if  expecting  to  find  that  the 
scene  had  vanished  shadow-like  into  thin  impalpable 
air,  but  castle  and  terrace,  tower  and  roses  remained 
as  they  had  been,  very  plain  to  the  poet's  astonished 
senses.  Tiptoeing  cautiously  across  the  grass,  he 
reached  a  marble  seat  which  stood  beneath  a  bower 
of  roses  and  seemed  to  be  protected  by  a  great  ter- 
minal statue  of  the  god  Pan,  which  had  been  given 
as  a  present  to  Louis  by  an  Eastern  prince  who  had 
carried  it  from  Athens.  Pressing  his  hand  to  his 
forehead,  Villon  tried  to  recall  the  events  of  the 
evening  before,  which  for  some  fantastic  reason 
seemed  to  lie  long  centuries  behind  him.  He  could 
remember  dimly  an  evil  looking  cell  with  straw 
upon  the  floor  and  chains  upon  the  walls;  he  could 

111 


IF  I  WERE   RING 

recall  the  sullen  faces  of  unfriendly  gaolers.  One  of 
these  gaolers  he  remembered  had  thrust  a  mug  of 
wine  into  his  hand  and  bade  him  drink  surlily,  and 
he  had  drunk  greedily,  as  was  his  way  when  free 
drink  was  offered  to  him,  and  drinking,  drank  ob- 
livion sudden  and  complete. 

But  why  he  had  gone  to  a  dungeon?  His  senses 
ached  as  he  asked  himself  this,  and  faint  pictures 
began  to  piece  themselves  together  out  of  the  epi- 
sodes of  the  dead  night.  He  saw  again  the  squalid 
walls  of  the  Fircone  Tavern  and  his  mind  jumped 
back  to  his  recitation  of  the  ballad  and  his  fierce 
sense  of  indignation  at  the  humiliation  of  Paris, 
girdled  by  a  wall  of  hostile  Burgundians  and 
governed  by  an  impotent  king.  Then  came  the 
vision  of  an  angel's  visit  and  a  prayer  that  had  more 
of  devil  than  angel  in  it,  and  then  came  a  quarrel, 
and  a  fight  in  darkness  shattered  by  the  flaming 
torches  of  the  watch  and  Thibaut's  huge  body  lying 
on  the  ground  a  huddled  heap  of  shining  armour. 
He  remembered  the  ribbon  that  had  been  flung  to 
him  from  the  gallery  and  thrust  his  hand  into  the 
bosom  of  his  vest  of  cloth  of  gold  and  found  the 
token  there,  its  glossiness  of  white  and  gold  soiled 
by  its  touch  of  the  floor.  Then  came  his  capture, 
his  contumelious  march  through  the  gloomy  streets, 

112 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

his  taste  of  an  unknown  prison,  his  taste  of  poppied 
wine,  and  then  sleep. 

His  next  consciousness  was  that  he  was  lying  on 
a  soft  bed  instead  of  on  a  truss  of  straw,  and  that 
the  darkness  about  him  was  not  the  darkness  of  the 
cell.  Suddenly  someone  drew  a  curtain  and  in  a 
second  the  place  where  he  lay  filled  with  a  soft  light 
and  showed  that  to  Villon  which  astonished  him 
as  much  as  if  the  gates  of  Paradise  had  parted  be- 
fore him  and  shown  him  the  shining  lines  of  the 
hosts  of  Heaven.  He  remembered  that  he  was  lying 
in  a  stately  bed,  nestled  in  snowy  linen  beneath  a 
coverlet  of  crimson  silk.  He  remembered  that  the 
bed  stood  in  a  gorgeous  room,  heavy  with  magnifi- 
cent tapestry  and  roofed  with  a  carved  and  painted 
ceiling  that  glittered  with  gilt  and  stars.  Curtains 
of  purple  velvet  admitted  the  daylight  through  win- 
dows on  which  rich  armorial  bearings  glowed  in  col- 
oured glass.  Soft  and  delicate  odours  impregnated 
the  atmosphere  and  tender  strains  of  delicate  music 
stole  wooingly  on  the  senses  from  the  strings  of  a 
distant  lute. 

Then  there  came,  so  kindly  memory  assured  him, 
an  obsequious  man  in  black,  with  no  less  obsequi- 
ous attendants,  and  singular  ceremonies  of  bathing, 
perfuming  and  hair  dressing  and  a  putting  on  of 

113 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

sweet  linen  and  furred  raiment  and  jewels,  and  all 
the  ceremonials  for  the  transfiguration  of  a  ragged 
robin  into  the  likeness  of  a  mighty  lord.  On  the  top 
of  all  this  preparation  rose  the  sun  of  a  splendid 
banquet,  served  in  ware  of  gold  and  silver  and 
waited  on  by  the  same  obsequious  figure  in  black 
and  the  same  respectful  pages.  Then  followed  the 
summons  to  walk  into  the  air,  the  procession 
through  quiet  corridors  on  to  the  cool  grey  terrace 
and  the  final  installment  in  the  scented  solitude  of 
the  rose  garden.  Villon  was  head-sick  and  heart- 
sick with  the  effort  to  put  so  much  of  the  past  to- 
gether. He  felt  as  if  in  some  strange  titanic  way  he 
had  ruined  a  world  and  was  suddenly  called  upon  by 
Providence  to  piece  the  fragments  together  and 
make  all  whole  again.  He  tapped  his  forehead 
wonderingly. 

"  Last  night  I  was  a  red-handed  outlaw,  sleeping 
on  the  straw  of  a  dungeon.  To-day  I  wake  in  a  royal 
bed  and  my  varlets  call  me  monseigneur.  There  are 
but  three  ways  of  explaining  this  singular  situation. 
Either  I  am  drunk  or  I  am  mad  or  I  am  dreaming. 
If  I  am  drunk,  I  shall  never  distinguish  Bordeaux 
wine  from  Burgundy — a  melancholy  dilemma.  Let's 
test  it" 

The  marble  table  stood  but  a  little  way  from  him. 

114 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

TBe  golden  vessels  that  stood  upon  it  had  served  him 
at  that  morning  meal  which  was  still  an  immediate 
excellent  memory,  and  he  remembered  how  his  at- 
tendants had  told  him  that  one  held  wine  of  Bor- 
deaux and  one  wine  of  Burgundy.  He  rose  and 
crept  across  the  soft  grass  to  the  table  and  lifted  one 
of  the  golden  flagons  gingerly,  sniffed  at  it  fear- 
fully and  poured  some  of  its  contents  carefully  into 
a  golden  goblet.  Lifting  it  cautiously  to  his  lips,  he 
tasted  it  judiciously.  A  ripe,  warm,  royal  flavour 
rewarded  him. 

"By  Heaven!"  he  cried;  "no  nobler  juice  ever 
rippled  from  Burgundian  vineyards." 

He  drained  the  cup  and  set  it  down  to  fill  another 
from  the  companion  vessel  and  to  repeat  the  cere- 
mony of  sniffing,  tasting  and  swallowing.  Again 
the  desire  of  his  palate  was  pleased  and  pacified. 
He  reflected  as  he  sipped  and  swallowed. 

"  This  quintessence  of  crushed  violets  ripened 
no  otherwhere  than  in  the  valleys  of  Bordeaux. 
Ergo,  I  am  not  drunk.  I  do  not  think  I  am  mad, 
neither,  for  I  know  in  my  heart  that  I  am  poor  Fran- 
cois Villon,  penniless  Master  of  Arts,  and  no  will  o' 
the  wisp  Grand  Constable.  Then  I  am  dreaming, 
fast  asleep  in  the  chimney1  corner  of  the  Fircone 
Tavern,  having  finished  that  flask  I  filched,  and 

115 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

everything  since  then  has  been  and  is  a  dream.  The 
coming  of  Katherine,  a  dream.  My  fight  with 
Thibaut  d'Aussigny,  a  dream.  Then  the  king — 
popping  up  at  the  last  moment,  like  a  Jack-in-the- 
Box — a  dream.  These  clothes,  these  servants,  this 
garden — dreams,  dreams,  dreams.  I  shall  wake 
presently  and  be  devilish  cold  and  devilish 
hungry,  and  devilish  shabby.  But  in  the  mean- 
time, these  dream  liquors  make  good  drinking." 

He  was  about  to  fill  himself  another  cup  when 
a  shadow  fell  at  his  feet,  the  shadow  of  Olivier  le 
Dain  standing  before  him  with  his  air  of  emphasized 
respect,  which  was  beginning  to  pall  upon  the  trans- 
figured poet. 

"  Your  dignity  will  forgive  me,  but  it  is  the  king's 
wish  you  should  pass  judgment  on  certain  pris- 
oners." 

Villon  stared  at  him. 

"I?    And  here?" 

"  Such  is  the  king's  pleasure." 

"What  prisoners?" 

"Certain  rogues  and  vagabonds,  mankind  and 
womankind,  taken  brawling  in  the  Fircone  Tavern 
last  night." 

Villon  stroked  his  chin  thoughtfully.  An  idea 
seemed  to  take  command  of  his  confused  mind.  Here 


116 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

was  a  chance  to  learn  something  of  the  reality  that 
lay  at  the  core  of  all  this  mystery  of  roses  and  wine 
and  fine  raiment.  He  leaned  forward  curiously  and 
almost  whispered  to  the  attendant  barber, 

"  Tell  me,  is  Master  Francois  Villon,  Master  of 
Arts,  rhymer  at  his  best,  vagabond  at  his  worst, 
ne'er-do-well  at  all  seasons,  and  scapegrace  in  all 
moods,  among  them?  " 

Olivier  smiled  complacently  as  those  in  office  are 
accustomed  to  smile  at  the  humours  of  great  men. 

"  Your  dignity  is  pleased  to  jest.  Shall  I  send  you 
the  prisoners?  "  Villon  caught  at  the  offer  sharply. 

"  Can  I  do  with  them  as  I  wish?  " 

"  Absolutely  as  you  wish.  Such  is  the  king's 
will." 

Villon  leaned  back  in  resigned  surrender  to  an 
astonishing  situation.  He  had  dreamed  strange 
dreams  in  his  days  and  nights,  but  never  a  dream 
like  this  dream. 

"Set  a  thief  to  try  a  thief,"  he  philosophized. 
"Well,  bring  them  in." 

Olivier  bowed  and  disappeared  silently  along  the 
rose  alley  by  which  he  had  come.  When  he  was 
alone  again  Villon  slapped  his  forehead  resound- 
ingly, as  if  he  hoped  to  scare  his  senses  back  into 
sanity  by  violent  assault. 

117 


IF  I   WERE   KING 

"  Oh,  my  poor  head,"  he  moaned.  "Am  I  awake? 
rAm  I  asleep?  What  an  embroglio! " 

A  sense  of  dislike  to  his  respectful  attendant 
surged  up  through  his  perplexity.  "  That  damned 
fellow  in  black  is  confoundedly  obsequious,"  he  mut- 
tered. u  I  wonder  if  I  could  order  him  to  be  hanged ; 
he  has  a  hanging  face." 

Even  as  this  kind  reflection  came  into  his  headj 
his  meditations  were  disturbed  by  the  tramp  of  many 
feet  and  the  rattle  and  clank  of  weapons,  and  a 
email  company  of  soldiers  came  wheeling  round  into 
the  rose  garden  from  the  side  of  the  palace,  guarding 
a  number  of  men  and  women,  in  whom  Villon  in- 
stantly recognized  his  familiar  friends  of  the  Fir- 
cone Tavern.  At  the  head  of  the  soldiers  marched 
a  dapper  gentleman,  courtier-soldier  or  soldier- 
courtier,  a  thing  of  silk  and  steel,  half  dandy,  half 
man-at-arms,  exquisitely  attired  and  flagrantly 
aware  of  his  own  attractions.  He,  too,  was  familiar 
to  the  poet,  for  he  was  no  other  than  the  pink  and 
white  gentleman  whom  he  had  seen  acting  as  escort 
to  Katherine  on  the  day  when  he  first  beheld  her, 
and  whose  name,  as  he  had  learned  on  the  previous 
evening  from  Katherine's  own  lips,  was  Noel  le 
Jolys. 

"The   puppet  who   dangles  after   my  lady,"  he 
grumbled  to  himself.    "  He  jars  the  dream." 

118 


'Do  you  love  me  very  muchT" 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE  STARS 

Villon  felt  profoundly  sorry  for  his  imprisoned 
playfellows,  and  profoundly  hostile  to  the  pink  and 
white  gentleman.  His  friends  looked  so  wretched, 
so  woebegone,  so  bedraggled,  while  their  captor 
looked  so  point-device  and  self-satisfied  that  Villon 
felt  a  fierce  indignation  burn  within  him  over  the 
injustices  of  the  world. 

"  How  hang-dog  my  poor  devils  look  and  how; 
dirty,"  he  thought  to  himself,  as  the  soldiers  ranged 
their  prisoners  in  a  line  before  him  at  the  base  of 
the  terrace,  and  their  prinked  and  fragrant  captain 
came  trippingly  forward  and  saluted  Villon,  pre- 
senting to  him  at  the  same  time  a  piece  of  paper, 
covered  with  writing. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  dapperly,  "here  are  the  names 
of  these  night  birds." 

Villon  took  the  paper  and  looked  straightly  into 
the  young  man's  eyes. 

"  Have  we  ever  met  before?"  he  asked. 

Noel  le  Jolys  made  a  deprecatory  gesture. 

"Alas!  no,"  he  said.  "Your  lordship  has  swept 
into  court  like  an  unheralded  comet.  You  shall  tell 
us  tales  of  Provence  to  please  our  ladies." 

Still  gravely  looking  at  him,  Villon  questioned 
him  again. 

"  Messire  Noel,  if  you  and  I  had  a  mind  to  plnck 

119 


IF  I   WERE   KING 

the  same  rose  from  this  garden,  which  of  us  would 
win?" 

The  affable  fribble's  intelligence  appeared  to  be 
baffled. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  he  protested. 

Villon  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Never  mind,"  he 
said,  seating  himself  again  on  the  marble  seat  and 
looking  at  the  familiar  names  on  the  piece  of  paper. 

"  Send  me  hither  Rene'  de  Montigny." 

He  was  fairly  convinced  by  this  time  that  he  was 
not  wandering  in  the  labyrinths  of  a  dream,  that  he 
really  was  awake,  but  that  for  some  reason  which 
he  was  unable  to  fathom,  he  had  been  thus  strangely 
transmuted  into  the  semblance  of  splendour  and 
authority. 

"  The  popinjay  fails  to  recognize  me,"  he  said  to 
himself;  "  so  may  my  bullies,"  and  as  he  thought, 
Rene'  de  Montigny  was  pushed  forward  by  a  couple 
of  soldiers  and  stood  sullenly  defiant  before  him. 

Villon  leaned  forward,  oddly  interested  in  the  gro- 
tesque turn  of  things  which  put  him  in  this  position 
with  his  old  companion  and  fellow-scamp. 

"  You  are—"  he  questioned. 

Montigny  answered  angrily, 

"  Rene*  de  Montigny,  of  gentle  blood,  fallen  on  un- 
gentle days." 


120 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

<(  Through  no  fault  of  your  own,  of  course?  " 

"  As  your  grace  surmises,  through  no  fault  of  my 
own.  I  am  poor,  but,  I  thank  my  stars,  I  am  honest." 

This  remark,  which  was  made  aloud  for  the  benefit 
of  all  and  sundry,  provoked  a  roar  of  laughter  from 
Guy  Tabarie  which  was  promptly  converted  into  a 
groan  as  an  indignant  soldier  smote  him  into  silence 
by  a  lusty  blow  on  the  back.  Villon  caught  him 
up  on  the  assertion. 

"  Since  when,  sir?    Since  last  night?  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  your  grace." 

"  When  Jason  was  a  farmer  in  Colchis  he  sowed 
dragons'  teeth  and  reaped  soldiers.  What  do  you 
grow  in  your  garden,  Sire  de  Montigny?  " 

Montigny  gave  a  little  start  of  surprise  but  his 
answer  came  prompt. 

"  Cabbages." 

Villon  shook  his  head.  "Arrows,  Master  Rene", 
Burgundian  arrows,  most  condemnable  vegetables. 
Have  a  care!  'Tis  a  pestilent  crop  and  may  poison 
the  gardener.  Stand  aside." 

Rene"  de  Montigny  stared  at  his  interlocutor  in  a 
paroxysm  of  amazement.  Here  was  his  dearest 
secret  loose  on  the  lips  of.  his  questioner.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  he  had  ventured  boldly  to  gaze  into 
the  face  of  authority  and  Villon  returned  his  gaze 

121 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

defiantly.  But  there  was  no  recognition  in  Montig- 
ny's  eyes.  He  could  see  nothing  in  common  between 
the  splendid  gentleman  who  now  addressed  him  and 
the  ragged  rhymester  who  shared  so  many  squalid 
adventures  with  him,  and  in  an  instant  he  averted 
his  head  respectfully. 

"  If  your  grace  will  deign/'  he  pleaded,  stretching 
out  his  hands  in  entreaty,  but  Villon  was  inexorable. 

"Stand  aside,"  he  repeated,  and  Montigny  protest- 
ing was  dragged  back  to  his  place  with  his  fellows 
while  Villon  read  the  name  of  the  next  rogue  on  the 
list,  which  happened  to  be  that  of  Guy  Tabarie. 

By  this  time  Villon's  spirit  had  entered  into  a 
very  complete  appreciation  of  the  humours  of  the 
situation.  Having  realized  that  his  identity  was 
safe  even  from  the  keen  eyes  of  Rene'  de  Montigny, 
he  felt  assured  that  he  might  defy  the  indifferent 
scrutiny  of  his  less  alert  companions.  And  though 
he  made  use  of  the  long  pendant  fold  of  his  cap  to 
conceal  in  some  measure  his  countenance,  he  was 
now  so  confident  of  his  safety  that  he  was  prepared 
to  greet  each  prisoner  with  composure. 

Guy  Tabarie  cut  a  piteous  figure  as  he  tottered 
across  the  grass,  rudely  propelled  by  the  violence  of 
the  soldier  who  escorted  him  tweaking  him  by 


ear,  and  fell,  a  quaking  mountain  of  flesh,  at  the  feet 
122 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE  STARS 

of  the  man  whom  he  believed  to  be  the  Grand  Con- 
stable of  France.  With  piteous  gesticulations  and 
trembling  fingers,  the  red,  gross  man  knelt  and  at- 
tempted to  plead  for  mercy.  .Villon  eyed  him 
sternly  though  he  found  it  hard  to  restrain  jbis 
laughter. 

"You  come  with  clean  hands  ?  "  he  asked,  and  Guy; 
answered,  babbling,  his  words  tumbling  from  him, 
incoherent  and  confused,  holding  out  his  huge  paws 
like  a  schoolboy  reproved  for  want  of  soap  and 
.water: 

"  As  decent  a  lad,  my  lord,  as  ever  kept  body  and 
soul  together  by  walking  on  the  straight  and  nar- 
row path  that  leads  to — " 

He  had  stuttered  thus  far  when  Villon  interrupted 
him. 

"  The  gallows,  Master  Tabarie." 

Guy's  bulk  quivered  in  piteous  negation. 

"  No,  no;  I  have  the  fear  of  God  in  me  as  strong 
as  any  man  in  Paris." 

Villon  leaned  over  a  little  nearer  to  his  victim  and 
breathed  a  question  into  his  ear: 

"  Do  you  know  the  Church  of  St.  Maturin,  Master 
Tabarie?  " 

The  little  pig-like  eyes  of  Tabarie  widened  in  sur- 
*  T>rise  and  he  stammered  a  "  No,  my  lord,"  that  was 

123 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

in  itself  a  flagrant  confession  of  shameful  knowl- 
edge. Villon  wagged  his  head  wisely. 

"  Master  Tabarie,  Master  Tabarie,  your  memory 
is  failing  you.  Why,  no  later  than  the  middle  of 
March  last  you  broke  into  the  church  at  dead  of 
night  and  pilfered  the  gold  plate  from  the  altar. 
The  fear  of  God  is  not  very  strong  in  you." 

If  Master  Tabarie  had  been  listening  to  the  words 
of  a  wizard,  he  could  not  have  been  more  astonished. 

"  Saints  and  angels!  "  he  cried  aloud.  "  This  Grand 
Constable  is  the  devil  himself!  My  lord,  I  was  led 
astray;  my  lord,  I  was  not  alone " 

Villon  had  had  enough  entertainment  from  his  fat 
companion. 

He  made  a  sign,  and  instantly  a  soldier  swooped 
upon  the  grovelling  figure,  twitched  him'  to  his  feet 
and  drew  him  apart,  stuttering  furious  protestations 
of  innocence. 

Villon  looked  at  the  list  in  his  hand,  and  this  time 
he  called  for  two  names,  "Colin  de  Cayeulx  and  Casin 
Cholet,"  and  as  he  spoke,  the  two  knaves  were 
pushed  forward  towards  him.  Villon  drew  the  pair 
a  little  way  apart  and  stood  between  them,  eyeing 
their  roguish  faces  on  which  false  affability  strug- 
gled with  a  very  real  fear. 

"  Are  you  good  citizens,  sirs?  "  he  asked,  and  Colin 
immediately  answered  him: 

124 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

"  I  am  loath  to  sing  my  own  praises,  but  I  can 
speak  frankly  for  my  friend  here.  The  king  has  no 
better  subject,  and  Paris  no  more  peaceable  burgess 
than  Casin  Cholet." 

As  he  spoke  he  waved  Casin  Cholet  a  warm  salu- 
tation, and  Cholet  responded  to  his  praises  with  a 
friendly  grin  and  yet  more  friendly  words: 

"  If  I  have  any  poor  merits,  I  owe  them  all  to  this 
good  gentleman's  example.  I  have  followed  his  lead, 
halting  and  humble.  'Keep  your  eye  on  Colin  de 
Cayeulx,'  I  have  ever  said  to  myself,  '  and  learn  how 
a  good  man  lives/  " 

The  two  men  leered  at  each  other  across  Villon^ 
hoping  that  their  praises  of  each  other  might  have 
due  effect  upon  the  great  lord  who  seemed  so  conde- 
scending-to  them.  Villon  smiled. 

"  You  are  the  Castor  and  Pollux  of  purity?  Do 
you  remember  the  night  of  last  Shrove  Tuesday  and 
the  girl  you  carried  off  to  Fat  Margot's  and  held  to 
ransom?  " 

The  effect  of  his  words  upon  the  two  men  was 
startling.  The  ugly  episode  loomed  up  in  their  mem- 
ories and  they  shivered  to  find  it  known.  In  a  sec- 
ond the  simulated  friendship  of  bandit  for  bandit 
vanished  and  the  two  men  glared  at  each  other  with 
the  ferocity  of  fighting  dogs  as  they  hurled  accusa- 
tion and  denial  at  each  other: 

125 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

"  That  was  Colin's  adventure! " 

"  That  was  Casin's  enterprise!  " 

"  I  deplored  it." 

"  I  had  no  hand  in  it." 

Forgetting  their  respect  for  authority  in  the  fury; 
of  their  antagonism,  they  struck  angrily  at  each 
other  across  their  questioner  and  were  forj^rappling 
in  close  combat  when  Villon  made  a  signal  and  they, 
in  their  turn,  were  dragged  back  raging  into  the 
ranks  of  their  fellow  prisoners. 

There  was  only  one  left  now — Jehan  le  Loup — • 
who  stood  with  folded  arms  and  lowering  brows, 
surveying  the  efforts  of  his  comrades.  Villon  made 
a  sign,  and  the  man  was  dragged  into  his  presence. 
Villon  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  You  seem  a  brisk,  assured  fellow  for  a  man  in 
duress." 

The  friendly  demeanour  of  the  great  man  cheered 
the  prisoner  and  he  answered  bluffly: 

"My  good  conscience  sustains  me." 

Villon's  demeanour  was  still  amicable  as  he  put 
his  next  question  in  a  voice  that  came  only  to  Je- 
nan's  ears. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  How  did  Thevenin  Pensete 
come  to  his  death?  " 

The  muscles  of  Jehan  le  Loup's  face  twitched  for 

126 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE  STARS 

a  moment,  but  he  clinched  his  fingers  tightly  to 
restrain  himself  and  answered  with  a  surly 
impassability, 

"  How  should  I  know,  my  lord?" 

.Villon  drew  him  nearer  and  spoke  lower  still. 

"  Who  better?  That  nasty  quarrel  over  the  cards, 
the  high  words  and  a  snatch  for  the  winnings,  a 
tilted  table,  an  extinguished  taper,  a  stab  in  the 
dark  and  a  groan.  Exit  Thevenin  Pensete.  Your 
dagger  doesn't  grow  rusty!  " 

Jehan's  grey  face  grew  greyer  and  uglier,  but  he 
kept  his  countenance. 

"  Monseigneur,"  he  answered,  "  I  loved  him  like  a 
brother." 

"  As  Cain  loved  Abel,"  Villon  said.  He  made  a 
sign,  and  Jehan  le  Loup  was  taken  back  to  his 
fellows. 

So  far  Villon  had  been  sufficiently  diverted.  He 
had  played  upon  the  terrors  of  his  friends,  he  had 
bewildered  them  to  the  top  of  his  desire.  He  now 
foresaw  the  possibility  of  sport  more  delicate  as  his 
glance  fell  upon  the  group  of  girls  who  clustered 
together  like  frightened  birds  at  the  foot  of  the 
statue  of  Pan.  He  made  a  sign  to  Messire  Noel,  and 
the  gilded  exquisite  drew  near. 

"Bring  me  hither  those  four  gentlewomen,"  he 
commanded. 

127 


IF   I   WERE   RING 

The  fop's  face  lengthened  with  amazed  disappro- 
bation. 

^ Gentlewomen,  messire?    Those  four  doxies?" 

Villon  reproved  him. 

"  They  are  women,  good  captain,  and  you  and  I 
are  gentlemen,  or  should  be,  and  must  use  them 
gently." 

Messire  Noel  frowned  and  his  hand  made  a  gesture 
in  the  direction  of  his  sword-hilt;  then  he  remem- 
bered the  folly  of  quarrelling  with  so  great  a  man, 
and  contented  himself  with  shrugging  his  shoulders 
as  he  questioned, 

"  And  the  demirep  in  the  doublet  and  hose?  " 

"  Let  her  stay  for  the  present,"  Villon  answered, 
and  in  obedience  to  a  sign  from  Noel  the  four  girls 
came  timidly  forward  with  downcast  eyes,  while 
Huguette  remained  apart,  leaning  composedly 
against  the  image  of  Pan  and  surveying  the  scene 
with  a  good-humoured  indifference. 

When  the  girls  were  close  to  him,  Villon  spoke: 

"  Well,  young  ladies,  what  is  this  trade  of  yours 
that  has  brought  you  into  trouble?  " 

Jehanneton  dropped  a  curtsey. 

*  I  make  the  caps  that  line  helmets." 

Isabeau  followed  quickly, 

"  I  am  a  lace  weaver.  Enn£,  an  honest  trade." 

128 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

Blanche  came  next, 

"  I  am  a  slipper  maker." 

Denise  ended  the  catalogue. 

"And  I  a  glover." 

Mischief  danced  in  Villon's  eyes. 

"  No  worse  and  no  better.  A  word  in  your  ear." 
He  whispered  something  into  each  girl's  ear  in  turn, 
and  as  he  did  so,  each  girl  started,  drew  back,  looked 
confused,  laughed  and  blushed. 

It  is  ever  to  be  deplored  that  the  worthy  Dom 
Gregory,  whose  ecclesiastical  history  of  Poitou  is 
the  source  of  so  much  curious  information  concern- 
ing Villon,  should  have  omitted,  from  a  mistaken 
sense  of  delicacy,  to  chronicle  precisely  what  it  was 
that  the  poet  whispered  in  the  ears  of  each  of  the 
girls.  All  he  condescends  to  record  in  his  crabbed, 
canine  Latin,  is  that  Villon  showed  such  intimate 
acquaintance  with  certain  physical  peculiarities  or 
whimsical  adventures  private  to  each  damsel  that 
she  believed  the  speaker's  knowledge  to  be  little  less 
than  supernatural.  Literature  of  the  skittish  sort 
must  deplore  the  monastic  reticence,  but  history  can 
do  no  more  than  accept  it  and  leave  imagination  to 
fill  in  the  blank  as  best  it  pleases. 

All  history  is  certain  of  is  that  the  girls  gathered 
together,  chatting  like  sparrows,  each  speaking 
rapidly: 

129 


IF  I  WERE   KTNG 

"The  gentleman  is  a  wizard.  Why,  he  told 
me " 

"  Enne",  a  miracle;  he  reminded  me " 

"  Why,  he  knows " 

"  What  do  you  think  he  said?  " 

Each  girl  was  whispering  to  the  other  what  Vil- 
lon had  told  her,  when  Villon  interrupted  them. 

"  Young  women,  young  women,  the  world  is  a 
devil  of  a  place  for  those  who  are  poor.  I  could 
preach  you  a  powerful  sermon  on  your  follies  and 
frailties,  but,  somehow,  the  words  stick  in  my  gul- 
let. Here  is  a  gold  coin  apiece  for  you.  Go  and 
gather  .yourself  roses,  my  roses,  to  take  back  to 
what,  Heaven  pity  you!  you  call  your  homes." 

Jehanneton  gave  a  little  gasp  of  surprise. 

"Are  we  free?" 

Villon  answered  her  sadly, 

"Free?  Poor  children!  Such  as  you  are  never 
free.  Go  and  pray  Heaven  to  make  men  better,  for 
the  sake  of  your  daughter's  daughters." 

His  extended  hands  were  full  of  gold  pieces,  but 
they  were  soon  emptied  by  the  eager  girls  who 
pounced  upon  them.  Then  they  left  him  with  many 
curtsies  and  salutations  and  drifted  away  delight- 
edly into  the  mazes  of  the  rose  garden. 

Villon  turned  to  look  at  the  men  prisoners,  who 
were  anxiously  scanning  his  actions. 

130 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

"  As  for  these  gentlemen,"  he  said  to  Noel,  "  let 
them  go  where  they  will,  but  first  give  them  food 
and  drink  and  a  pocketful  of  money." 

The  effect  of  his  words  was  almost  as  paralyzing 
upon  the  rogues  as  it  was  upon  Messire  Noel.  It 
pleased  the  one  as  much  as  it  displeased  the  other. 

Noel  looked  the  contempt  he  did  not  venture  to 
express.  The  men  rushed  forward,  choking  with 
gratitude. 

"  God  save  you,  sir." 

"  Your  Excellency  is  of  a  most  excellent  excel- 
lence." 

"  Long  live  the  Grand  Constable! " 

"  A  most  rare  Constable." 

Villon  waved  them  away. 

"  Go  your  ways,"  he  said,  "  and  if  you  can,  mend 
them." 

Shouting  and  dancing  for  joy,  the  men  took  ad- 
vantage of  his  permission  and  disappeared  in  their 
turn  among  the  alleys  of  the  rose  garden,  seeking 
and  finding  the  wandering  women  and  vanishing 
with  them  in  due  course  into  the  labyrinths  of 
Paris. 

Villon  turned  to  Noel. 

"  You  may  dismiss  your  soldiers,"  he  said.  "  At- 
tend me  within  call,"  and  as  Noel  obeyed  him,  he 

131 


IF  I  WERE   RING 

advanced  to  where  Huguette  was  standing,  witH  a 
smile  of  scornful  indifference  still  on  her  fair  face. 

yillon  asked  himself  as  he  went: 

"  Why,  in  God's  name,  does  the  world  appear  so 
'different  to-day?  Is  it  the  thing  they  call  the  better 
self,  or  merely  this  purple  and  fine  linen?  " 

.What  he  said  when  he  came  to  the  girl  was, 

"  Fair  mistress,  you  have  a  comely  face  and  you 
make  it  very  plain  that  you  have  a  comely  figure. 
Why  do  you  go  thus?  " 

The  girl  shrugged  her  green  shoulders  and  shifted 
the  balance  of  her  body  from  one  green  leg  to  the 
other,  as  she  answered  impudently, 

"  For  ease  and  freedom,  to  please  myself,  and  to 
show  my  fine  shape  to  please  others." 

Last  night  this  girl  had  been  his  own  familiar 
friend;  to-day  she  lay  leagues  away  from  his  fairy 
greatness.  There  was  pity  in  his  next  speech. 

"  Are  you  a  happy  woman,  mistress?  " 

"Happy  enough,"  she  answered  as  she  snapped 
her  fingers  defiantly,  "  when  fools  like  you  don't  clap 
me  into  prison  for  living  my  life  in  my  own  way." 

"  I  may  be  a  fool,  but  I  did  not  clap  you  into 
prison.  Heaven  forbid! " 

A  curious  look  came  into  the  girl's  eyes,  and 
she  'drew  a  little  nearer  to  him.  Her  voice  was  a 

132 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

caress;  the  tenor  of  her  hands  was  a  caress;  every 
supple  curve  of  her  alluring  body  caressed.  She 
seemed  to  coax  him,  cat-like,  as  she  whispered: 

"  Your  voice  sounds  familiar,  Monseigneur.  Had 
I  ever  the  honour  to  serve  you?  " 

Villon  drew  away  from  her.  He  felt  suddenly 
body-sick  and  soul-sick;  sorry  for  the  woman,  sorry 
for  himself. 

"Who  knows?"  he  answered.  The  girl  laughed 
and  turned  aside. 

"Who  cares?  What  are  you  going  to  do  with 
me?" 

"  Set  you  free,  my  delicate  bird  of  prey.  Those 
wild  wings  were  never  meant  for  clipping  and 
caging.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to  please  you?  " 

On  the  instant  her  enticement  shifted;  all  her  be- 
ing was  a  tremulous  entreaty. 

"  What  has  come  to  Master  Frangois  Villon?  " 

"  Why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  He  was  with  us  when  we  were  snared  last  night. 
But  he  did  not  share  our  prison  and  he  is  not  with 
us  now.  Does  he  live?  " 

Villon  hesitated  for  a  moment  before  speaking. 

"  He  lives.  He  is  banished  from  Paris,  but  he 
lives." 

Huguette  clasped  her  hands  in  gratitude. 

133 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"The  sweet  saints  be  thanked!"  she  said;  and 
there  was  that  in  her  voice  which  made  the  simple 
words  sound  very  sincere  to  Villon's  ears. 

"  What  do  you  care  for  the  fate  of  this  fellow?  " 

"  As  I  am  a  fool,  I  believe  I  love  him." 

"  Heaven's  mercy!    Why?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Messire.  A  look  in  his  eyes,  a 
trick  of  his  voice — the  something — the  nothing  that 
makes  a  woman's  heart  run  like  wax  in  the  fire.  He 
never  made  woman  happy  yet,  and  I'll  swear  no 
.woman  ever  made  him  happy.  If  you  gave  him  the 
moon,  he  would  want  the  stars  for  a  garnish.  He 
believes  nothing;  he  laughs  at  everything;  he  is  a 
false  monkey — and  yet,  I  wish  I  had  borne  such  a 
child." 

There  was  a  sudden  pain  at  Villon's  heart,  as  if 
the  girl's  fingers  had  seized  it  and  squeezed  it,  but 
he  replied  lightly: 

"  Let  us  speak  no  more  of  this  rascal.  He  believes 
more  and  laughs  less  than  he  did.  He  is  so  glad  to 
be  alive  that  his  forehead  scrapes  the  sky  and  the 
stars  fall  at  his  feet  in  gold  dust.  Paris  is  well  rid 
of  such  a  jackanapes." 

"  You  are  a  merry  gentleman." 

"I  would  be  more  gentle  than  merry  with  you. 
Will  you  wear  this  ring  for  my  sake?  Fancy  that 

134 


THE  VOICES  OF  THE   STARS 

it  comes  from  Master  Francois  Villon,  who  will  al- 
ways think  kindly  of  your  wild  eyes." 

"  Let  me  see  your  face,"  she  requested,  but  Villon 
denied  her.  He  signed  to  Noel  le  Jolys,  where  he 
stood  apart,  and  the  young  soldier  came  hurriedly 
to  him. 

"  Captain,"  he  said,  "  give  this  lady  honourable 
conduct." 

He  moved  away  and  left  the  pair  together — the 
mannish  woman  and  the  womanish  man,  looking  at 
each  other,  the  man  in  admiration  and  the  woman 
in  veiled  disdain. 

"  You  are  a  comely  girl,"  Noel  affirmed  roundly. 

Huguette  laughed. 

"  This  is  news  from  no-man's  land." 

Noel  spoke  lower. 

"  Where  do  you  lodge?  " 

Huguette  was  a  woman  of  business  in  an  instant. 
She  flashed  in  Noel's  face  the  ring  the  Grand  Con- 
stable had  given  her  as  she  answered; 

"At  the  sign  of  the  Golden  Scull,  hard  by  the 
Fircone.  Will  you  visit  me?  " 

Noel  clapped  his  hands  together. 

"As  I  am  a  man,  I  will." 

A  good  understanding  being  thus  established,  the 
pair  drifted  away  together  and  were  soon  lost  to 
sight.  Villon  looking  after  them  mused: 

135 


IF  I  WERE   RING 

"  Heaven  forgive  me,  I  am  becoming  a  most  pitiful 
loud  preacher.  Every  rogue  there  deserves  the  gal- 
lows, but  so  do  I,  no  less,  and  I  have  not  swallowed 
enough  of  this  court  air  to  make  me  a  hypocrite. 
Well,  all  this  justice  is  thirsty  work,  and,  mad  or 
sane,  sleeping  or  waking,  let  me  drink  while  I  can." 

He  returned  to  the  golden  flagons,  poured  out  a 
full  cup  of  Burgundy,  watched  it  glow  in  the  sun- 
light, and  lifted  it  to  his  lips. 

"  To  the  loveliest  lady  this  side  of  heaven!"  he 
said  for  a  toast,  but  ere  he  touched  his  lips  to  the 
cup,  he  lowered  it  again. 

Olivier  le  Dain  had  come  on  to  the  terrace,  and 
with  Olivier  there  came  a  lady. 

"  By  heaven,"  Villon  cried,  "  my  eyes  dazzle,  for 
I  believe  I  see  her! " 


136 


CHAPTER  VI 
GARDEN   LOVE 

O  N  the  terrace  the  fair  girl  leaned  and  looked  over 
at  the  garden  and  its  golden  occupant.  To  the  eyes 
of  Villon  her  beauty  had  never  seemed  rarer,  and  the 
wild  passion  which  had  prompted  him  to  spin  his 
very  soul  into  song  burnt  with  a  new,  delicious 
strength  of  hope.  He  stared  at  her  as  a  worshipper 
might  stare  at  some  sudden  vision  of  a  long  dreamed 
of  goddess,  and  as  he  stared,  Olivier  descended  the 
steps,  soft-footed,  and  came  and  stood  before  him. 

"  My  lord,  there  is  a  lady  there  who  desires  to 
speak  with  you." 

Villon  turned  his  gaze  unwillingly  from  the  gra- 
cious apparition  above  him  to  the  sombre  servitor. 

"  I  desire  to  speak  with  her,"  he  said  earnestly, 
and  again  his  eyes  travelled  in  the  direction  of  the 
lady. 

Olivier  came  close  to  him  and  touched  him  re- 
spectfully on  the  wrist. 

"  Remember,  my  lord,"  he  said,  very  softly,  "  that 
you  are  Francois  of  Corbeuil,  Lord  of  Montcorbier, 
Grand  Constable  of  France,  newly  come  to  Paris  from 
the  Court  of  His  Majesty  of  Provence.  Remember 

137 


IF   I   WERE    RING 

this  as  if  it  were  written  in  letters  of  gold  upon 
tables  of  iron.  Forget  all  else.  The  king  com- 
mands it." 

The  words  sounded  dully  enough  on  Villon's 
brain,  absorbed  as  he  was  in  the  contemplation  of 
his  queen,  but  at  least  they  served  to  convince  him 
of  what  he  had  already  begun  to  assure  himself,  that 
for  some  purpose  or  other  King  Louis  wished  him 
well  and  granted  him  golden  chances. 

Francois  of  Corbeuil,  Count  of  Montcorbier,  stood 
in  a  very  different  relation  to  the  Lady  Katherine 
from  that  of  the  lowly  poet  and  gaolbird  who  had 
rhymed  and  sighed  and  battled  in  the  Fircone  Tavern 
last  night. 

"  The  king  shall  be  obeyed,"  he  said  gravely,  and 
Olivier,  turning,  made  a  sign  to  Katherine,  who  de- 
scended the  steps  slowly.  As  she  reached  the  last 
step,  Olivier  saluted  Villon  and  the  lady  profoundly 
and,  mounting  the  steps,  vanished  within  the  palace. 

The  man  and  the  woman  were  left  alone  in  the 
/ose  garden.  Villon  felt  a  sudden  strange  sensation 
at  his  heart,  exquisite  pain  and  exquisite  pleasure, 
and  he  clasped  his  hands  together. 

"  I  am  awake,"  he  assured  himself;  ",no  dream 
could  be  as  fair  as  she." 

Even  at  the   thought,  Katherine    flung   herself 

138 


GARDEN   LOVE 

swiftly  at  his  feet,  divinely  gracious  in  her  surrender 
of  dignity  as  she  kneeled  to  him  with  uplifted  im- 
ploring hands  and  eyes. 

"My  lord,"  she  cried,  "will  you  listen  to  a  dis- 
tressed lady?  " 

Villon  stooped  and  caught  her  white  fingers  and 
drew  her  to  her  feet. 

"  Not  while  the  lady  kneels,"  he  said  gently,  and 
he  looked  with  a  strange  apprehension  into  the 
frank,  bright  eyes  of  Katherine.  Would  she  know 
him  for  what  he  was,  he  wondered.  He  read  no  rec- 
ognition in  her  sweet  eyes.  Katherine  returned  his 
gaze,  unflinchingly  regarding  him  as  a  great  lady 
might  regard  some  stranger  her  equal  of  whom  she 
could  ask  a  favour. 

"  She  does  not  know  me,"  Villon's  delight  cried 
in  his  heart,  and  at  the  thought  his  spirit  fluttered 
with  fierce  exaltation.  The  Lord  of  Moncorbier,  who 
was  Grand  Constable  of  France,  might  say  many 
things  that  were  denied  to  the  lips  of  Francois 
Villon. 

Katherine  pleaded  warmly: 

"  There  is  a  man  in  prison  at  this  hour  for  whom 
I  would  implore  your  clemency.  His  name  is  Fran- 
gois  Villon.  Last  night  he  wounded  Thibaut  d'Aus- 
signy " 

139 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Villon  smiled  a  contented  smile. 

"  Thereby  making  room  for  me,"  he  suggested. 

Katherine  went  on  unheeding: 

"  The  penalty  is  death.  But  Thibaut  was  a  traitor 
sold  to  Burgundy." 

"  Did  this  Villon  fight  him  for  his  treason?  " 

"  No.  He  fought  for  the  sake  of  a  woman.  He 
risked  his  life  with  a  light  heart  because  a  woman 
asked  him." 

"How  do  you  know  all  this?" 

"  Because  I  was  the  woman.  This  man  had  seen 
me,  thought  he  loved  me,  sent  me  verses " 

"How  insolent!" 

"  It  was  insolence — and  yet  they  were  beautiful 
verses.  I  was  in  mortal  fear  of  Thibaut  d'Aussigny. 
I  went  to  this  Villon  and  begged  him  to  kill  my 
enemy.  He  backed  his  love  tale  with  his  sword — and 
he  lies  in  the  shadow  of  death.  It  is  not  just  that 
he  should  suffer  for  my  sin." 

Villon  turned  suddenly  upon  the  beautiful  sup- 
pliant. A  thought  had  come  into  his  brain  so  whim- 
sical and  so  fantastic  that  it  made  him  as  dizzy  for 
an  instant  as  if  the  smooth  grass  beneath  him  had 
yawned  into  a  sheer  and  evil  precipice. 

"  Do  you  by  any  chance  love  this  Villon?  " 

A  little  wave  of  disdain  rippled  over  the  girl's 
calm  face. 


140 


GARDEN   LOVE 

"  Great  ladies  do  not  love  tavern  bravos.  But  I 
pity  him,  and  I  do  not  want  him  to  die,  though,  in- 
deed, life  cannot  be  very  dear  to  him  if  he  would 
fling  it  away  to  please  a  woman." 

She  had  held  a  rose  in  her  hand,  and  as  she  spoke 
she  flung  it  from  her  in  dainty  symbolism  of  the  life 
which  the  poor  tavern  poet  had  risked  so  bravely 
for  her  sake.  A  mad  resolve  came  into  Villon's  mind. 
If  he  was,  indeed,  all  that  this  woman  thought  him 
to  be,  all  that  those  with  whom  he  had  spoken  had 
assured  him  he  was,  now  was  his  chance  to  play  the 
lover  to  his  heart's  desire.  If  the  Grand  Constable 
had  the  power  to  pardon,  surely  the  Grand  Constable 
had  also  the  right  to  woo.  She  had  drawn  a  little 
way  from  him  and  he  followed  her  up,  standing  so 
close  to  her  that  with  a  little  movement  he  might 
have  kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 

"  Even  when  you  are  the  woman?  If  I  had  stood 
in  this  rascal's  shoes,  I  would  have  done  as  he  did  for 
your  sake." 

The  girl  gave  a  joyous  cry. 

"If  you  think  this,  you  should  grant  the  poor 
knave  his  freedom." 

Villon  flung  his  hands  apart  with  a  magnificent 
gesture  of  liberation. 

"That   broker   of  ballads   shall   go   free.   .Your 

141 


IF   I  WERE   KING 

prayer  unshackles  him  and  we  will  do  no  more  than 
banish  him  from  Paris.  Forget  that  such  a  slave 
ever  came  near  you." 

The  lady  dropped  him  a  magnificent  curtsey,  and 
her  cheeks  glowed  with  gratitude. 

"  I  shall  remember  your  clemency." 

She  made  as  if  she  would  leave  his  presence,  but 
his  boldness  waxed  within  him  as  a  fire  waxes  with 
new  wood,  and  he  caught  her  lightly  by  the  wrist. 

"  By  Saint  Venus,  I  envy  this  fellow  that  he 
should  have  won  your  thoughts.  For  I  am  in  his 
case  and  I,  too,  would  die  to  serve  you!  " 

Surprise  flamed  in  the  girl's  eyes,  surprise  and 
amusement  mingled. 

"  My  lord,  you  do  not  know  me,"  she  laughed,  and 
her  laughter  was  as  fresh  and  merry  as  a  milkmaid's 
in  the  meadows. 

"  Did  he  know  you?  Yet  when  he  saw  you  he  loved 
you  and  made  bold  to  tell  you  so." 

Her  forehead  wrinkled  prettily  in  a  little  protest- 
ing frown. 

"  His  words  were  of  no  more  account  than  the 
wind  in  the  eaves.  But  you  and  I  are  peers  and  the 
words  we  change  have  meanings." 

Villon  caught  his  breath.  The  Lord  of  Montcor- 
bier  was,  indeed,  wardered  by  very  different  stars 

142 


GARDEN   LOVE 

from  the  fellow  of  the  Fircone.  He  saluted  her 
banteringly. 

"  Though  I  be  newly  come  to  Paris  I  have  heard 
much  of  the  beauty  and  more  of  the  pride  of  the 
Lady  Katherine  de  Vaucelles." 

A  little  fire  burned  in  the  girl's  pale  cheeks,  and 
she  flung  her  head  back  scornfully. 

"  I  am  humble  enough  as  to  my  beauty,  but  I  am 
very  proud  of  my  pride." 

Villon,  leaning  forward  with  entreating  hands, 
pleaded  with  beseeching  lips. 

"  Would  you  pity  me  if  I  told  you  that  I  loved 
you?" 

Katherine  laughed,  and  the  music  of  her  laughter 
seemed  to  wake  faint  echoes  among  the  roses  as  if 
every  blossom  were  a  magic  bell  with  a  fairy  hand 
at  the  clapper. 

"  Heaven's  mercy,"  she  said.  "  How  fast  your 
fancy  gallops.  I  care  little  to  be  flattered  and  less  to 
be  wooed,  and  I  swear  that  I  should  be  very  hard  to 
win." 

She  turned  to  mount  the  steps  as  she  spoke,  as 
if  she  had  said  all  that  she  wanted  to  say,  but  Villon 
delayed  her  with  imploring  protest. 

"  I  have  more  right  to  try  than  your  taproom 
bandit.  I  see  what  he  saw ;  I  love  what  he  loved." 

143 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Again  the  girl's  laughter  brightened  the  summer 
air. 

"You  are  very  inflammable." 

Villon  caught  at  her  words. 

"  My  fire  burns  to  the  ashes.  You  can  no  more  stay 
me  from  loving  you  than  you  can  stay  the  flowers 
from  loving  the  soft  air,  or  true  men  from  loving  hon- 
our, or  heroes  from  loving  glory.  I  would  rake  the 
moon  from  heaven  for  you." 

The  girl  swayed  her  head  daintily,  as  a  queen  rose 
might  in  a  realm  of  roses.  There  was  something  like 
pity  in  her  eyes,  but  laughter  lingered  on  her  lips. 

"  That  promise  has  grown  rusty  since  Adam  first 
made  it  to  Eve."  She  eyed  him  in  silence  for  a  second 
time,  deriding  his  sighs  with  a  smile:  then  "  There  is 
a  rhyme  in  my  mind,"  she  cried,  "  about  moons  and 
lovers,"  and  she  began  to  declaim,  half  muse,  half 
minx,  some  lines  that  had  pleased  her,  to  tease  the 
importunate  stranger. 

"  Life  is  unstable, 

Love  may  uphold; 
Fear  goes  in  sable, 

Courage  in  gold. 
Mystery  covers 

Midnight  and  noon, 
Heroes  and  lovers 

Cry  for  the  moon." 

144 


"I  am  Francois  Villon  and  yet  no  longer  he,  for  my  old  eril  Mil 


GARDEN   LOVE 

As  the  first  words  of  the  verse  fell  from  her  lips, 
Villon's  heart  leaped  and  his  eyes  brightened  for  he 
knew  the  sound.  They  were  part  of  the  rhymes  him- 
self had  sent  her  on  that  very  parchment  which  had 
cost  him  first  a  dinner  and  then  a  drubbing.  He 
had  fancied  the  words  and  the  rhymes  when  he  wrote 
them,  but  now  they  seemed  to  sound  on  his  ears  with 
the  married  music  of  all  the  falling  waters  and  all 
the  blowing  winds  of  the  world.  It  was  a  shining 
face  that  he  turned  to  the  girl  as  he  jeered,  denying 
the  thought  in  his  heart: 

"What  doggerel!" 

The  girl  flashed  scorn  at  him. 

"Doggerel!  It  is  divinity,"  she  insisted,  flinging 
a  kiss  from  her  finger-tips  in  Godspeed,  as  it  were, 
to  the  banished  ballad-maker,  as  she  moved  a  little 
further  up  the  steps.  Villon  followed  her.  Let  come 
what  might  come,  he  was  the  maid's  equal  for  the 
moment  and  would  press  his  suit  if  he  died  for  it. 

"  Tell  me  what  I  may  do,"  he  said,  "  to  win  your 
favour." 

The  girl's  smiling  face  grew  graver  as  she  looked 
down  on  the  imploring  poet. 

"  A  trifle,"  she  said  lightly,  as  a  child  might  bid  for 
a  doll;  and  then,  as  Villon's  eyes  glowed  questions, 
her  voice  rang  out  like  the  call  of  a  clarion.  "  Save 
France! "  she  trumpeted. 

145 


IF   I  WERE   KING 

Villon  caught  fire  from  both  her  moods. 

"  No  more?  "  he  said,  and  though  the  sound  of  his 
Toice  jested,  the  look  in  his  eyes  was  earnest. 

The  girl  responded  to  jest  and  earnest  royally. 

"  No  less.  Are  you  not  Grand  Constable,  chief  of 
the  king's  army?  There  is  an  enemy  at  the  gates  of 
Paris,  and  none  of  the  king's  men  can  frighten  him 
away."  She  pointed  out  where,  in  the  distance,  be- 
yond the  walls  of  Paris,  the  pitched  tents  of  the 
enemy  fluttered  their  hostile  flags.  Her  bosom 
heaved  with  great  desire.  "  Oh,  that  a  man  would 
come  to  court!  For  the  man  who  shall  trail  the  ban- 
ners of  Burgundy  in  the  dust  for  the  king  of  France 
to  walk  on,  I  may  perhaps  have  favours." 

Villon  looked  at  her  as  men  must  have  looked  at 
Joan  of  Arc  when  she  bade  them  rise  up  and  strike 
for  France. 

"  You  are  hard  to  please,"  he  said,  but  his  heart 
was  full  of  joy  at  the  thought  of  trying  to  please 
her.  If  he  could  do  this  thing! 

The  girl  answered  his  words  and  not  his  thoughts. 

"  My  hero  must  have  every  virtue  for  his  wreath, 
every  courage  for  his  coronet.  Farewell." 

By  this  time  she  had  reached  the  terrace  and  she 
made  to  enter  the  palace.  Villon  called  to  her 
longingly: 

146 


GARDEN   LOVE 

"  Stay!    I  have  a  thousand  things  to  say  to  you." 

The  girl  smiled  denial. 

"  I  have  but  one,"  she  said,  "  and  I  have  said  it 
long  since.  Farewell." 

Villon  made  a  dash  for  audacity. 

"  I  will  follow  you,"  he  said,  and  he  moved  to  do 
so,  but  the  girl's  lifted  finger  stayed  him. 

"  You  may  not,"  she  said  peremptorily.  "  I  go  to 
the  queen."  And  so  with  a  swift  salutation,  gracious 
as  the  dip  of  a  dancing  wave,  she  entered  the  palace 
and  left  him  standing  there,  dazed  and  ardent,  as 
a  man  might  be  who  had  just  been  vouchsafed  the 
vision  of  an  angel.  He  murmured  to  himself  her 
words  as  he  slowly  descended  the  steps  to  the 
ground, 

"  Oh,  that  a  man  would  come  to  court,"  and  on 
that  text  he  wove  the  hopeful  commentary  of  his 
thoughts. 

"Why  should  I  not  deserve  her?  Last  night  I 
was  only  a  poor  devil  with  a  rusty  sword  and  a  single 
suit.  To-day  all's  different.  I  am  the  king's  friend, 
it  would  seem,  a  court  potentate,  a  man  of  mark. 
What  may  I  not  accomplish?  This  finery  smiles  like 
sunlight  and  the  world  will  warm  its  hands  at  me." 

He  was  exquisitely  pleased  with  himself,  ex- 
quisitely pleased  with  the  world  that  held  him  and 

147 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

Katherine.  He  forgot,  as  lovers  always  will  for- 
get, that  there  was  any  one  else  in  the  world  save 
himself  and  his  beloved,  and  he  was  so  wrapped 
in  his  sweet  contemplations  that  he  did  not  hear  the 
tower  door  gently  open,  did  not  hear  the  soft,  creep- 
ing footsteps  of  the  king  as  he  came  out  of  his  hiding 
place  and  shuffled  across  the  soft  grass  toward  his 
plaything. 


148 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  ANSWER  TO  BURGUNDY 

A  TOUCH  on  the  shoulder  roused  Villon  from  his 
honeyed  meditations,  and  he  turned  with  a  start  to 
find  the  sable  figure  of  the  king  at  his  side  and  the 
sinister  visage  smiling  upon  him. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Lord  Constable,"  Louis  ^said 
amiably,  and  as  Villon  dropped  respectfully  on  his 
knee,  he  questioned: 

"  Does  power  taste  well?  " 

"Nobly,  sire.  On  my  knees  let  me  thank  your 
majesty." 

"  Nonsense,  man;  I'm  pleasing  myself.  You  sang 
yourself  into  splendour.  '  If  Francois  were  the  king 
of  France/  eh?  " 

Villon  rose  with  voice  and  gesture  of  apologetic 
entreaty. 

"  Your  majesty  will  understand " 

Louis  brushed  his  apologies  aside  blandly. 

"  Perfectly.  My  good  friend,  you  captivated  me. 
With  what  a  flashing  eye,  with  what  a  radiant  fore- 
head, with  what  a  lofty  carriage  you  thundered  your 
verses  at  me.  l  There/  I  said  to  myself,  '  is  a  real 

149 


IF   I   WERE   KING 

man,  a  man  with  a  mission,  a  man  who  may  serve 
France.' " 

"  Sire,  that  has  been  my  hunger's  dream  of 
plenty." 

Louis  clasped  his  thin  arms  across  his  chest  and 
hugged  himself  affectionately. 

"  Well,  I  couldn't  very  well  make  you  king,  you 
know,  and  I  wouldn't  if  I  could,  for  I  have  a  fancy 
for  the  task  myself.  But  I  owed  you  a  good  turn  and 
your  own  words  prompted  the  payment.  '  This  poor 
devil  shall  taste  power,'  I  said.  *  I  will  make  him 
my  Grand  Constable '  " 

Villon's  joy  was  so  great  that  he  was  unable  to 
hear  the  king  out,  but  interrupted  him  with  enthus- 
iastic promises. 

"  Sire,  I  will  serve  you  as  never  king  was  served." 

Louis  went  on  unheeding,  and  his  quiet,  monot- 
onous words  fell  on  the  hot  brain  of  the  poet  and 
chilled  it. 

"I  will  make  him  my  Grand  Constable  for  a 
week." 

If  Louis  had  jerked  a  dagger  into  Villon's  side,  he 
could  not  have  more  surely  hurt  his  victim. 

"  A  week,  sire?  "  Villon  gasped,  almost  unable  to 
realize  the  meaning  of  the  king's  words. 

Louis  turned  upon  him  and  snarled  at  him : 

150 


THE  ANSWER  TO  BURGUNDY 

"  Good  Lord,  did  your  vanity  credit  a  permanent 
appointment?  Come,  friend,  come,  that  would  be 
pushing  the  joke  too  far! " 

All  the  sunlight  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  the 
world,  all  the  scent  out  of  the  roses.  Villon  could 
only  repeat  to  himself:  "  A  week!  "  and  stare  vacant- 
ly at  the  king.  The  king  emphasized  his  offer,  lin- 
gering over  it  lovingly. 

"  Even  so.  One  wonderful  week,  seven  delirious 
days."  He  paused  for  an  instant  as  he  counted. 
"  One  hundred  and  sixty-eight  heavenly  hours.  It's 
the  chance  of  a  lifetime.  The  world  was  made  in 
seven  days.  Seven  days  of  power,  seven  days  of 
splendour,  seven  days  of  love." 

Villon  gave  a  groan  of  despair  for  his  golden 
hopes. 

"  And  then  go  back  to  the  garret  and  the  kennel, 
the  tavern  and  the  brothel ! " 

Louis'  malign  smile  deepened.  He  came  closer  to 
the  poet  and  tapped  him  on  the  chest  with  his  lean 
forefinger.  He  was  enjoying  himself  immensely. 

"  No,  no,  not  exactly."  he  hummed.  "  You  don't 
taste  the  full  force  of  the  joke  yet.  In  a  week's  time 
you  will  build  me  a  big  gibbet  in  the  Place  de  Greve, 
and  there  your  last  task  as  Grand  Constable  will 
be  to  hang  Master  Francois  Villon." 

151 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

If  the  world  had  been  colourless  and  scentless  be- 
fore, it  was  now  no  better  than  a  hideous  heap  of 
ashes.  If  Villon  had  run  up  a  heavy  reckoning  with 
the  king  at  the  Fircone  Tavern,  must  he  wipe  out  the 
score  with  his  life-blood?  Villon  fell  at  the  king's 
feet  with  extended  hands  and  agonized,  beseeching 
eyes. 

"  Sire,  sire,  have  pity!  " 

The  king  looked  down  on  him  in  disdain. 

"  Are  you  so  fond  of  life?  Are  you  so  poor  a  thing 
that  you  prize  your  garret  and  your  kennel,  your 
tavern  and  your  brothel  so  highly?  " 

Villon  bowed  his  head. 

"  I  was  content  yesterday." 

The  king  surveyed  the  cowering  figure  with  grow- 
ing contempt. 

"Can  you  be  content  to-day?  Please  yourself. 
There  is  still  a  door  open  to  you.  You  can  go  back 
to  your  garret  this  very  moment  if  you  choose.  Say 
the  word  and  my  servants  shall  strip  you  of  your 
smart  feathers  and  drub  you  into  the  street." 

Villon  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "Your  ma- 
jesty, be  merciful! "  he  implored. 

The  king's  scorn  blazed  out: 

"  You  read  Louis  of  France  a  lesson,  and  Louis  of 
France  returns  the  compliment.  I  took  you  for  true 

152 


THE  ANSWER  TO  BURGUNDY 

gold  and  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  only  base  metal. 
You  mouthed  your  longing  for  the  chance  to  show 
what  you  could  do.  Here  is  your  chance!  Take  it 
or  leave  it.  But  remember  that  I  never  change  my 
mind.  You  may  have  your  week  of  wonder  if  you 
wish,  but  if  you  do,  by  my  word  as  a  king,  you  shall 
swing  for  it." 

Villon  rose  to  his  feet  and  caught  at  his  throat  as 
if  the  grip  of  the  rope  were  at  that  very  moment 
closing  about  it.  He  choked  as  he  spoke. 

"  In  God's  name,  sire,  what  have  I  done  that  you 
should  torture  me  thus?  " 

The  king  snapped  his  answer: 

"  You  have  mocked  a  king  and  maimed  a  minister. 
You  can't  get  off  scot  free." 

Villon's  bewildered  thoughts  forced  themselves 
into  words.  He  spoke  not  so  much  to  the  king  as 
to  himself,  desperately  trying  to  decide. 

"  Heaven  help  me!  Life,  squalid,  sordid,  but  still 
life,  with  its  tavern  corners  and  its  brute  pleasures 
of  food  and  drink  and  warm  sleep,  living  hands  to 
hold  and  living  laughter  to  gladden  me — or  a  week 
of  cloth  of  gold,  of  glory,  of  love — and  then  a  shame- 
ful death!" 

He  flung  himself  on  the  marble  seat  and  crouched 
there,  shuddering. 

The  king  patted  him  on  the  back. 

153 


IF    I   WERE   KING 

"Pray,  friend,  pray,  to  help  your  judgment! " 

He  had  taken  off  his  black  velvet  cap  and  ran  his 
eye  over  the  little  row  of  metal  saints  which  en- 
circled it  as  if  he  were  meditating  to  which  particu- 
lar patron  he  should  recommend  his  Grand  Con- 
stable to  address  himself.  As  he  did  so,  Olivier  le 
Dain  came  through  the  garden  and  moved  swiftly  to 
the  king's  side. 

"  Sire,"  he  said,  "  the  Burgundian  herald,  Toison 
d'Or,  attends  under  a  flag  of  truce  with  a  message 
for  your  majesty." 

Louis  turned  to  his  barber. 

"  We  will  receive  him  here,  Olivier,  in  this  green 
audience  chamber.  We  need  the  free  air  when  we 
hold  speech  with  Burgundy." 

As  Olivier  left  the  royal  presence  a  little  thing 
happened  which  meant  much  to  four  people.  Kath- 
erine  came  on  to  the  terrace  with  Noel  le  Jolys.  She 
had  a  lute  in  her  hand  and  she  touched  its  chords 
lightly,  seeking  to  make  an  air  for  words  as  she 
idled  the  time  with  her  wooer.  Louis  saw  her, 
though  Villon  did  not,  for  he  was  huddled  in  a  heap 
on  the  marble  seat  with  his  head  in  his  hands  trying 
to  control  his  whirling  thoughts.  A  new  demon  of 
mischief  entered  the  king's  heart. 

"How,"  he  thought,  "if  my  lady  Virtue,  who 

154 


THE  ANSWER  TO  BURGUNDY 

flouted  me,  could  be  lured  to  love  this  beggar-man?  " 
He  ambled  across  to  where  Villon  lay  and  tapped 
him  on  the  shoulder.  Villon  turned  to  him  a  face 
drawn  and  white  with  agony. 

"  One  further  chance,  fellow,"  said  the  king.  "  If 
the  Count  of  Montcorbier  win  the  heart  of  Lady 
Katherine  de  Vaucelles  within  the  week,  he  shall 
escape  the  gallows  and  carry  his  lady  love  where  he 


"  On  your  word  of  honour,  sire?  " 

"  My  word  is  my  honour,  Master  Francois.  Well?  " 

At   this   very   moment   it   pleased   heaven   that 

Katherine,  sitting  on  the  terrace  and  smiling  at  the 

adoration  in  Noel  le  Jolys'  eyes,  seemed  to  find  the 

air  she  sought  and  began  to  sing.    The  tune  was 

quaint  and  plaintive,  tender  as  an  ancient  lullaby, 

the  words  were  the  words  of  the  tortured  poet,  and 

as  he  heard  them  a  new  hope  seemed  to  come  into  his 

heart. 

"Life  is  unstable, 

Love  may  uphold; 
Fear  goes  in  sable, 
Courage  in  gold. 
Mystery  covers 

Midnight  and  noon, 
Heroes  and  lovers 
Cry  for  the  moon." 

155 


IF  I  WERE   RING 

"Well,"  said  the  king;  "you  cried  for  the  moon; 
I  give  it  to  you." 

"  And  I  take  it  at  your  hands!  "  Villon  thundered. 
"  Give  me  my  week  of  wonders  though  I  die  a  dog's 
death  at  the  end  of  it.  I  will  show  France  and  her 
what  lay  in  the  heart  of  the  poor  rhymester." 

Louis  applauded,  clapping  his  thin  hands  together 
gleefully. 

"  Spoken  like  a  man!  But  remember,  a  bargain's 
a  bargain.  If  you  fail  to  win  the  lady,  you  must, 
with  heaven's  help,  keep  yourself  for  the  gallows. 
No  self-slaughter,  no  flinging  away  your  life  on  some 
other  fool's  sword.  I  give  you  the  moon,  but  I  want 
my  price  for  it." 

.Villon's  blood  now  ran  warm  again  in  its  chan- 
nels, and  he  answered  stoutly: 

"  Sire,  I  will  keep  my  bargain.  Give  me  my  week 
of  opportunity,  and  if  I  do  not  make  the  most  of  it 
I  shall  deserve  the  death  to  which  you  devote  me." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  air  was  stirred  with  a  cheer- 
ful flourish  of  trumpets  and  the  quiet  garden  was  in- 
vaded by  Tristan  1'Hermite  and  a  company  of  sol- 
diers, escorting  a  tall  and  stately  gentleman,  whose 
gorgeous  tabard  proclaimed  him  to  be  Toison  d'Or, 
the  herald  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy.  The  news  of 
his  coming  had  run  through  the  palace,  and  the 

156 


THE  ANSWER  TO  BURGUNDY 

terrace  was  suddenly  flooded  with  courtiers  and 
ladies  eager  to  hear  what  the  enemy's  envoy  had  to 
say  and  what  answer  the  king  would  send  back  to 
him.  Louis  seated  himself  on  the  marble  seat  anigh 
the  image  of  Pan  and  drew  Villon  down  beside  him. 

"  Listen  well  to  this  man's  words,  my  Lord  Con- 
stable," he  whispered,  and  then  turning  to  the 
gleaming  figure  of  the  herald,  he  demanded: 

"  Your  message,  sir?  " 

Toison  d'Or  advanced  a  few  feet  nearer  to  the  mon- 
arch and  spoke  in  a  ringing  voice. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  and  of  his 
allies  and  brothers-in-arms  assembled  in  solemn 
leaguer  outside  the  walls  of  Paris,  I  hereby  summon 
you,  Louis  of  France,  to  surrender  this  city  uncon- 
ditionally and  to  yield  yourself  in  confidence  to  my 
master's  mercy." 

The  king  folded  his  hands  over  his  knees  and  in- 
clined his  head  a  little,  like  an  enquiring  bird. 

"  And  if  we  refuse,  Sir  Herald?  " 

The  herald  answered  promptly: 

"  The  worst  disasters  of  war,  fire  and  sword  and 
famine,  much  blood  to  shed  and  much  gold  to  pay 
and  for  yourself  no  hope  of  pardon." 

"  Great  words,"  the  king  sneered. 

The  herald  replied  proudly: 

157 


IF   I  WERE   KING 

"  The  angels  of  great  deeds." 

Villon  had  been  sitting  listening  as  a  man  listens 
in  a  dream,  almost  unconscious  of  what  was  taking 
place.  Among  the  ladies  on  the  terrace  Katherine 
stood  conspicuous  in  her  youth  and  beauty,  and  to 
her  his  eyes  were  turned  in  worship.  The  quarrels 
of  great  princes,  the  destinies  of  France  were  for  the 
moment  indifferent  to  him.  He  forgot  his  high  de- 
sires of  empire,  his  swelling  belief  in  his  real  mission. 
He  was  only  conscious  that  a  great  prize  lay  tempt- 
ingly within  his  grasp,  that  he  might  win  his  heart's 
desire.  Louis  interrupted  his  reverie: 

"  The  Count  of  Montcorbier,  Constable  of  France, 
is  my  counsellor.  His  voice  delivers  my  mind. 
Speak,  friend,  and  give  this  messenger  his  answer." 

He  touched  Villon  on  the  arm  and  Villon  turned 
to  him  in  astonishment.  "As  I  will,  sire?  " 

The  king  caught  him  up  impatiently. 

"  Yes,  go  on,  go  on.  '  If  Villon  were  the  king  of 
France/  " 

Villon  leaped  to  his  feet  and  advanced  toward  the 
herald.  A  wild  exultation  filled  his  veins  with  fire. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  the  lord  of  the  world,  as  if  his 
hands  held  the  scales  that  decided  the  destinies  of 
nations.  He  had  always  dreamed  of  the  great  deeds 
he  would  do,  and  now  great  deeds  were  possible  to 

158 


THE  ANSWER  TO  BURGUNDY 

him,  and  at  least  he  would  try  to  do  them.  He  looked 
straight  into  the  herald's  changeless  face,  but  his 
heart  shrined  Katherine  as  he  spoke. 

"  Herald  of  Burgundy,  in  God's  name  and  the 
king's,  I  bid  you  go  back  to  your  master  and  say 
this :  Kings  are  great  in  the  eyes  of  their  people,  but 
the  people  are  great  in  the  eyes  of  God,  and  it  is  the 
people  of  France  who  answer  you  in  the  name  of  this 
epitome.  The  people  of  Paris  are  not  so  poor  of 
spirit  that  they  fear  the  croak  of  the  Burgundian 
ravens.  We  are  well  victualled,  we  are  well  armed; 
we  lie  snug  and  warm  behind  our  stout  walls;  we 
laugh  at  your  leaguer.  But  when  we  who  eat  are 
hungry,  when  we  who  drink  are  dry,  when  we  who 
glow  are  frozen,  when  there  is  neither  bite  on  the 
board  nor  sup  in  the  pitcher  nor  spark  upon  the 
hearth,  our  answer  to  rebellious  Burgundy  will  be 
the  same.  You  are  knocking  at  our  doors,  beware 
lest  we  open  them  and  come  forth  to  speak  with  our 
enemy  at  the  gate.  We  give  you  back  defiance  for 
defiance,  menace  for  menace,  blow  for  blow.  This  is 
our  answer — this  and  the  drawn  sword.  God  and 
St.  Denis  for  the  King  of  France!  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  his  sword  and  flashed  it  aloft 
in  the  sunlight.  There  was  contagion  in  his  burning 
words,  and  every  soldier  present  bared  his  blade  and 

159 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

pointed  it  to  heaven  while  Villon's  cry  was  repeated 
upon  a  hundred  lips.  As  Toison  d'Or  turned  and  left 
the  presence,  Katherine  came  swiftly  down  the  steps 
and  flung  herself  at  Villon's  feet. 

"  My  Lord,"  she  said.  "  With  my  lips  the  women 
of  France  thank  you  for  your  words  of  flame." 

Louis  leaned  forward,  smiling  sardonically. 

"  Mistress,  what  does  this  mean?  "  he  questioned. 

The  girl  rose  to  her  feet,  looking  into  Villon's  face 
with  eyes  that  mirrored  the  admiration  shining  in 
his  eyes. 

"  It  means,  sire,  that  a  man  has  come  to  court! " 


CHAPTER    VIII 
A  WORD  WITH  DOM  GREGORY 

IT  is  a  thousand  pities  that  the  materials  for  build- 
ing up  a  practical  presentment  of  the  real  life-story 
of  Master  Francois  Villon  are  so  slight,  that  in  the 
historical  sense  they  might  almost  be  said  to  be  non- 
existent. We  know,  indeed,  a  little  of  Master  Fran- 
C,ois'  early  days,  partly  from  some  confessions  which 
must  at  all  times  be  interpreted  with  a  liberal  sense 
of  humour  and  glossed  with  an  infinite  deal  of  good 
nature,  and  partly  from  stray  records  made  by  those 
who  do  not  seem  to  have  held  the  vagrant  poet  very 
warm  in  their  hearts.  But  of  his  life  in  those  days 
of  which  this  chronicle  deals,  there  is  little  to  find 
where  there  is  much  to  seek. 

The  silence  of  Commines  may  be  explained  in  a 
thousand  ways,  possibly  professional  jealousy  of  one 
minister  for  another,  who  in  so  short  a  space  of  time 
did  so  much  and  so  well,  possibly  ignorance  of  the 
real  facts  of  the  case,  for  it  is  fairly  certain  that 
King  Louis  kept  his  jape  and  its  sequel  very  much 
to  himself,  possibly  because  Commines  felt  that  his 
cold  spirit  was  scarcely  equal  to  the  proper  record- 
ing of  so  whimsical  and  oriental  an  adventure. 

161 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Good  Master  Clement  Marot,  when  he  took  it  upon 
himself,  generations  after  our  poet  was  dust  and 
ashes,  to  edit  our  poet's  writings,  said  much  in  praise 
of  the  singer  but  said  little,  no  doubt  because  he 
knew  little,  of  the  poet's  life. 

And  the  great  creator  of  Pantagruel  and  Gar- 
gantua,  the  immeasurable  Alcofribias  Nasier,  whom 
the  world  loves  or  hates  as  Rabelais,  in  what  he 
contributed  to  our  knowledge  of  Frangois  Villon 
has  only — to  use  a  weather-worn  and  moss-grown 
phrase — made  confusion  yet  worse  confounded. 

We  should  be  at  a  deadlock,  indeed,  if  it  were  not 
for  Poitou  and  its  Abbey  of  Bonne  Aventure,  whose 
library  is  luckily  rich  in  historical  manuscripts  of 
the  period,  and  richest  of  all  in  that  priceless  manu- 
script of  Dom  Gregory,  which,  treating  in  general 
of  the  ecclesiastical  history  of  Poitou  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  dealt  so  particularly  and  so  liberally 
with  the  life  of  Master  Frangois  Villon,  because  Mas- 
ter Frangois  Villon  in  his  old  age  was  so  excellent 
a  patron  of  the  church.  We  say  dealt  advisedly, 
for  time  has  treated  somewhat  scurvily  the  fair  skins 
of  parchment  upon  which  the  good  Dom  Gregory 
recorded  his  thoughts  and  his  opinions  at  consider- 
able length  as  the  rich  setting  of  the  facts,  too  few 
in  number,  with  which  he  condescended  to  enlighten 

162 


A  WORD  WITH  DOM  GREGORY 

posterity.  Many  pieces  of  parchment  are  missing 
from  the  roll  of  his  record,  and,  unhappily,  the  great- 
est gap  in  the  story  is  precisely  at  that  point  where 
our  hero  found  himself  so  suddenly  and  so  strangely 
taken  into  favour  by  his  king,  and  so  suddenly  and 
so  strangely  smiled  upon  by  his  mistress.  We  have 
indeed  some  admirable  homiletics  of  the  worthy 
friar's  in  praise  of  the  conduct  and  carriage  of  Mas- 
ter Francois  Villon  at  the  time  of  his  unexpected 
exaltation.  After  a  gracious  invocation  of  manj 
saints  and  angels,  the  very  elect  of  the  company  of 
heaven,  Dom  Gregory,  in  a  fine  spirit  of  rectitude, 
proceeds  to  applaud  the  Count  of  Montcorbier  for  the 
high  example  he  set  to  his  fellow-men.  Here,  in 
effect  says  the  worthy  churchman,  was  a  man  who, 
having  passed  the  flower  of  his  life  in  squalor  and  all 
manner  of  ignobilities,  still  kept  in  a  sense  the  white- 
ness of  his  soul  and  allowed  the  brightness  of  the 
celestial  flame  to  burn,  faintly  indeed  but  unextin- 
guished,  on  the  altar  of  his  heart.  How  many  men, 
asks  Dom  Gregory,  glowing  with  a  pious  gratifica- 
tion, how  many  men  who  in  humility  have  dreamed 
that  they  might  under  serener  stars  and  happier 
auspices  do  great  deeds  and  win  honourable 
honours,  would,  if  put  to  the  proof,  show  them- 
selves as  splendid  in  prosperity  as  they  dreamed 

163 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

themselves  in  adversity?  Master  Francois  Villon, 
he  goes  on  to  say,  is  the  loveliest  example  known  to 
him  of  a  ma»,  who,  having  always  believed  in  him- 
self with  a  great  belief,  did,  on  being  put  to  the 
test,  prove  that  his  belief  was  founded,  not  on  the 
shifting  sands  of  vanity  and  vain  glory,  but  on  the 
solid  granite  of  good  faith  and  the  inestimable 
doctrines  of  the  church. 

From  all  this  we  gather  dimly,  as  one  discerns 
objects  in  a  mist,  that  Master  Francois  Villon,  as 
Count  of  Montcorbier,  proved  himself  to  be  little 
less  than  equal  to  the  high  opinion  of  himself  which 
he  had  confided  all  unwittingly  into  the  ear  of  his 
masquerading  sovereign.  But  the  pages  in  which 
Dom  Gregory  sets  forth  at  length  exactly  all  that 
Master  Frangois  Villon  did  and  said  and  thought 
during  the  period  of  his  astonishing  probation,  are 
unfortunately  lost  to  the  Abbey  of  Bonne  Aventure, 
and,  in  consequence,  to  the  world.  No  less  than  six 
folios  consecrated  by  the  careful  pen  of  Dom  Gre- 
gory to  this  memorable  epoch  have  vanished  from 
the  priceless  manuscript.  The  custodian  of  the  Ab- 
bey library  will  tell  you  with  tears  in  his  eyes  that 
these  pages  disappeared  during  the  storm  and  stress 
of  the  French  Revolution,  but  travellers  in  France 
are  too  well  aware  of  the  readiness  of  ecclesiastical 


1C4 


A  WORD  WITH  DOM  GREGORY 

custodians  to  attribute  all  things  evil  to  the  time  of 
the  great  upheaval,  to  pay  any  serious  attention  to 
this  particular  allegation.  However  it  happened, 
the  pages  are  lost,  and  there,  as  far  as  we  are  con- 
cerned, is  an  end  of  them. 

But  in  a  way  we  are  able  to  piece  together  from 
Dom  Gregory's  later  statements,  and  from  certain 
traditions  which  still  linger  here  and  there  in  the 
highways  and  byways  of  Poitou,  enough  material 
to  enable  us  to  ascertain  with  something  like  suffi- 
cient accuracy,  what  it  was  that  Master  Francois 
Villon  did  accomplish  as  Count  of  Montcorbier  in 
those  seven  days  of  splendour  which  his  mocking 
king  accorded  to  him.  We  know  for  certain  that  the 
king  found  him  an  admirable  counsellor,  cool,  wary 
and  judicious,  and  that  during  the  period  of  his  min- 
istry, Louis  followed  his  advice  with  a  faith  which, 
if  it  were  founded  indeed  upon  a  superstitious  ad- 
herence to  the  edicts  of  the  stars,  proved  itself  to 
be  thoroughly  justified  by  his  Lord  Constable's  com- 
mon sense,  foresight  and  astonishing  knowledge  of 
human  nature.  We  know,  too,  that  he  proved  him- 
self no  less  skilled  as  a  soldier  than  as  a  statesman, 
as  capable  of  pre-eminence  in  the  arts  of  war  as  in 
the  arts  of  peace.  His  knowledge  of  Caesar's  Com- 
mentarie's  and  his  natural  inclination  to  strategy, 

165 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

interpreted  by  an  eloquent  tongue  fired  by  a  ready 
mother  wit,  earned  him  the  ear  and  won  him  the 
heart  of  the  king's  great  captains  and  wrung  from 
them  at  first  a  reluctant  but  finally  such  a  delighted 
adherence  as  their  sires  had  been  compelled  to  sur- 
render to  the  Maid  of  Orleans. 

Yet  while  our  poet  was  playing  these  two  parts, 
he  managed  his  affairs  so  dexterously  that  he  seemed 
to  the  general  eye  to  be  playing  but  one  part,  and 
that  the  part  of  the  dazzlingly  magnificent  courtier. 
If  his  mornings  were  given  to  consultation  with  the 
king  and  the  king's  chief  soldiers,  if  his  forenoons 
were  devoted  to  the  confirming  of  edicts  and  the 
promulgations  of  laws  all  tending  to  alleviate  the 
condition  and  lighten  the  load  of  the  people  of  Paris, 
his  afternoons  and  evenings  and  shining  summer 
nights  were  entirely  surrendered  to  the  glittering 
pleasures  and  pastimes  of  a  man  of  ease.  We  hear 
of  entertainment  after  entertainment,  banquet  and 
ball  and  masquerade,  pageant  and  play  and  pastime, 
each  one  of  which  seemed  to  be  the  last  word  of 
wealthy  ingenuity  until  it  was  eclipsed  by  its  still 
more  splendid  successor.  And  it  was  this  part  of 
which  the  Count  of  Montcorbier  chose  to  make  the 
most  with  a  very  special  purpose.  He  caused,  it 
seems,  many  emissaries  of  his  to  quit  Paris  and  find 

166 


A  WORD  WITH  DOM  GREGORY 

shelter  within  the  Duke  of  Burgundy's  lines,  pre- 
tending to  be  deserters  from  the  waning  cause  of  the 
king,  each  of  whom  had  the  same  tale  to  tell  to  the 
credulous  ears  of  the  enemy;  namely,  that  the  king's 
new  favourite  was  a  wastrel  and  a  fool,  who  had  no 
better  purpose  in  life  than  the  rhyming  of  madrigals, 
the  tuning  of  lutes,  the  draining  of  flagons,  and  the 
pressing  of  ladies'  fingers  in  the  dance.  All  of  which 
produced,  we  are  assured,  upon  the  mind  of  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy  the  very  effect  desired  by  Villon  and  led 
to  results  which  luckily  we  are  enabled  to  know 
more  of,  as  Dom  Gregory's  manuscript  happily  re- 
sumes continuity  on  the  seventh  day  of  Master  Fran- 
c.ois'  week  of  wonder. 

We  further  learn — for  Dom  Gregory,  though  a 
churchman,  seems  to  have  a  kindly  spot  in  his  heart 
for  the  ways  of  lovers — that  during  those  seven  days, 
the  friendship  of  Villon  and  Katherine  grew  apace 
and  that  the  whole  court  watched  with  interest,  and 
Monsieur  Noel  le  Jolys  with  an  ever-increasing  fury, 
the  growth  of  a  great  and  beautiful  passion.  But 
it  seems  that  Master  Villon,  whether  from  fear  to 
risk  too  soon  or  from  a  desire  to  leave  the  loveliest 
moment  of  his  reign  to  the  last,  made  no  attempt 
directly  to  declare  himself  or  directly  to  learn  how 

167 


IF  I  WERE   RING 

high  he  stood  in  the  Lady  Katherine's  heart  until 
the  very  day  which  was  the  last  day  upon  which  it 
was  possible  for  him  to  assure  his  own  salvation. 


168 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 
CHAPTER   IX 

ON  the  seventh  day  of  Villon's  week  of  wonder, 
his  glory  was  at  its  greatest.  No  fairer  day  had 
graced  that  radiant  month  of  June  and  no  more 
splendid  pageantry  had  adorned  the  illustrious  reign 
of  the  new  Grand  Constable.  Mimic  battles,  foun- 
tains running  wine,  free  doles  of  food,  fantastic 
pageants,  grotesque  dances,  all  the  gorgeous  mum- 
mery that  the  fifteenth  century  delighted  in  was 
offered  in  profusion  to  please  the  fancy  and  win  the 
hearts  of  the  people  of  Paris.  But  the  crowning 
triumph  was  the  great  festival  which  the  Grand 
Constable  gave  with  the  king's  permission  in  the 
king's  own  rose  garden,  the  magnificent  mascarado 
in  the  Italian  manner,  to  which  all  who  were  asso- 
ciated with  the  court  were  summoned.  This  revelry 
which  began  at  sunset  was  intended  to  overtop  all 
possible  courtly  ceremonials  in  the  splendour  of  its 
equipment,  the  lavishness  of  its  display,  the  richness 
and  profusion  of  its  hospitality. 

It  was  near  to  the  hour  of  sunset  when  Villon  sat 
with  the  king  in  the  little  room  in  the  grey  tower 
from  which  the  king  loved  to  follow  the  movements 

169 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

of  the  heavenly  bodies.  On  the  table  by  which  the 
king  and  Villon  were  seated  lay  a  large  chart  of  the 
country  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  Paris, 
and  in  front  of  the  table  stood  three  of  the  king's 
most  trusty  commanders,  the  Lord  du  Lau,  the  Lord 
Poncet  de  Riviere  and  the  Lord  of  Nantoillet. 

Villon  had  been  explaining  to  the  king  and  to  his 
military  advisers  a  scheme  which  had  been  grow- 
ing in  his  mind  throughout  the  week  for  the  con- 
fusion of  the  enemy,  a  scheme  for  which  the  gorgeous 
entertainment  to  be  given  that  evening  was  to  serve 
as  a  golden  mask.  Villon  touched  a  point  on  the 
map  which  represented  a  spot  very  familiar  to  him, 
a  little  dip  in  the  swelling  land,  where  he  used  to 
play  as  a  child  and  gather  wildflowers  and  hide  him- 
self, and  imagine  that  he  was  a  bandit  or  a  great 
captain  or  a  fairy  prince — any  one  of  the  thousand 
illusions  of  childhood  at  its  play. 

"  There,  sire,"  he  said.  "  If  we  can  lure  the  Bur- 
gundians  to  that  hollow,  the  day  is  ours.  The  slop- 
ing ground  above  it  will  mask  a  thousand  men." 

Poncet  de  Riviere  leaned  forward  questioningly. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  the  lay  of  the  land?  " 

Villon  answered  positively: 

"  Sure.  I  played  truant  there  when  I  was  no  high- 
er than  your  sword  belt." 

170 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

Nantoillet  spoke  as  a  man  who  weighs  his  words: 

"  The  scheme  seems  feasible,  sire." 

Villon  glanced  up  from  the  table  in  humourous 
apology. 

"  You  may  think  me  a  raw  soldier,"  he  said;  "  yet  I 
have  practised  strategy  all  my  days." 

Du  Lau  answered  him  approvingly: 

"  My  lord,  you  reason  like  a  seasoned  veteran." 

Pleased  with  the  praise  Villon  turned  to  the  king. 

"  Sire,  I  have  blown  it  abroad  that  your  majesty 
feasts  to-night.  While  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  be- 
lieves us  to  be  carousing,  we  shall  make  a  sortie  from 
St.  Anthony's  gate.  Our  horses'  hooves  will  be  muf- 
fled, no  spur  shall  jingle,  and  no  bridle  clink.  We 
will  steal  through  the  night  like  shadows.  At  the 
cross  road  some  few  of  us  will  make  an  attack  upon 
the  enemy's  left  and  beat  a  retreat.  This  will  tempt 
him  into  our  ambuscade  and  as  I  believe  end  in  his 
rout.  At  nine,  my  lords.  Farewell." 

He  raised  his  hand  in  dismissal;  the  three  cap- 
tains saluted  the  king  and  his  minister  and  passed 
out  of  the  presence.  As  they  descended  the  winding 
stairs,  du  Lau  said  to  his  companions: 

"  I  do  not  know  your  hearts,  my  lords,  but  I  love 
this  soldier  of  fortune." 

Nantoillet  answered  cordially: 

in 


IF     I  WERE   KING 

"  God  knows  where  he  came  from  and  God  knows 
where  he  will  go  to,  but  I  would  ride  with  him  to 
the  world's  end." 

"My  father,"  said  Poncet  de  Riviere,  "told  me 
often  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans  and  her  power  with 
bearded  men.  He  must  be  of  her  kindred,  for  he  wins 
me  against  my  will." 

As  the  sound  of  their  feet  died  away  in  the  depths 
of  the  tower,  Villon  turned  to  the  king. 

"  If  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  falls  into  my  trap,"  he 
said;  "  men  will  call  me  a  great  captain.  Yet  it  is  no 
more  than  remembering  the  shape  of  a  meadow 
where  I  played  in  childhood.  Strange  that  an 
urchin's  playground  should  become  a  Golgotha  of 
graves  and  glories." 

The  king  clapped  him  playfully  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  wisdom?  " 

"  In  the  school  of  hope  deferred.  When  I  was—- 
what I  was,  I  still  believed  that  this  dingy  carcass 
swaddled  a  Roman  spirit.  In  the  pomp  of  my  pallet 
I  dreamed  Olympian  dreams.  And  the  dreams  have 
come  true." 

"  You  are  an  amazing  fellow.  Here  in  a  week,  you 
have  made  me  more  popular  than  I  made  myself 
since  my  accession.  In  court,  in  camp,  in  council, 
men  are  pleased  to  call  you  paragon." 

172 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

"  I  am  a  man  of  the  people  and  I  know  what  the 
people  need.  A  week  ago  the  good  people  of  Paris 
were  disloyal  enough.  I  repeal  the  tax  on  wine  and 
to-day  they  clap  their  hands  and  cry  'God  save 
King  Louis '  lustily.  A  week  ago  your  soldiers  were 
mutinous  because  they  were  ill  fed,  worse  clothed, 
and  never  paid  at  all.  I  feed  them  full,  clothe  them 
warm,  pay  them  well,  and  to-day  your  majesty  has 
an  army  that  would  follow  me  to  the  devil  if  I  whis- 
tled a  marching  tune." 

"  But  in  the  meantime,  your  sands  are  running 
out.  Is  your  heart  failing?  Is  your  pulse  flagging?  " 

"  Not  a  whit.  I  have  been  translated  without 
discredit  from  the  tavern  to  the  palace,  and  if  the 
worse  comes  to  the  worst,  I  may  say  with  the  dying 
CaBsar,  *  Applaud  me.'  " 

The  king  grinned  sardonically. 

"  Will  the  worse  come  to  the  worst?  "  he  piped, 
"How  is  your  suit  with  the  Lady  Katherine?  " 

Villon's  smile  lingered  still  on  his  lips  as  he  an- 
swered : 

"  Sire,  no  wise  man  boasts  that  he  knows  the  heart 
of  a  woman,  and  yet,  I  hope  for  the  best." 

"  But  if  you  fail,"  the  king  persisted. 

Villon's  smile  grew  more  philosophical.  In  his 
heart  he  felt  fairly  confident,  but  spoke  cautiously. 

173 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

u  Why,  then,  when  the  housewife  moon  kindles  her 
pale  fire  on  the  hearth  of  heaven  to-morrow,  I  shall 
be  quiet  enough.  But  either  way  you  have  given 
me  a  royal  week,  and  I  have  made  the  most  of  it, 
lived  a  thousand  lives,  eaten  my  cake  to  the  last 
sweet  crumb  and  have  known  the  meaning  of  king- 
ship." 

Louis  laughed. 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  had  reigned  for  a  century." 

Villon's  sententious  mood  deepened. 

"  A  man  might  live  a  thousand  years  and  yet  be  no 
more  account  at  the  last  than  as  a  great  eater  of 
dinners.  Whereas  to  suck  all  the  sweet  and  snuff 
all  the  perfume  but  of  a  single  hour,  to  push  all 
its  possibilities  to  the  edge  of  the  chessboard,  is  to 
live  greatly  though  it  be  not  to  live  long,  and  an  end 
is  an  end  if  it  come  on  the  winged  heels  of  a  week 
or  the  dull  crutch  of  a  century." 

Louis  leaned  back  and  looked  at  his  companion  in 
astonishment. 

"  Pray  heaven  this  philosophy  may  sound  as  fine 
when  your  neck  is  in  the  halter." 

"Your  majesty's  wit  and  my  wish  run  nose  and 
nose  in  a  leash." 

Louis  changed  the  subject  as  if  there  were  more 
important  matters  in  the  world  than  the  life,  loves 
and  death  even  of  a  Grand  Constable. 

174 


IF  I  WERE   TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

"  Messire  Noel  brings  me  a  new  astrologer  to-night. 
The  heavens  seem  in  a  conspiracy  of  confusion,  the 
stars  are  all  a  tangle!  My  dream  of  a  star  falling 
from  heaven  defies  divination." 

Villon  looked  at  him  pityingly. 

"  Do  you  never  tire  of  these  sky  doctors? "  he 
questioned. 

Louis  frowned,  as  he  always  frowned  at  any  hint 
of  disbelief  in  the  science  of  the  stars. 

"  Don't  jest,  master  poet,"  he  said,  "  but  ply  your 
suit  with  proud  Kate,  for  I  swear  if  you  fail,  you 
shall  hang  to-morrow.  Now  leave  me,  for  I  must 
work  while  you  play,"  and  he  bent  over  a  chart 
and  seemed  to  forget  all  else  in  his  profound  con- 
templation. 

Villon  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  silence  and 
then  went  out  of  the  room  and  descended  the  steps, 
opened  the  little  door,  and  passed  into  the  garden. 
The  summer  sun  was  dying  in  a  splendid  riot  of 
colour  among  the  rose  trees.  Its  last  rays,  falling  on 
the  face  of  the  god  Pan,  illuminated  his  fantastic  fea- 
tures and  seemed  to  lend  them  the  life  of  an  ironic 
leer.  The  warm  air  was  rich  with  the  blended  odours 
of  a  thousand  blossoms,  and  from  the  palace,  faint 
and  far  off,  came  the  sound  of  joyous  voices.  It  was 
almost  the  moment  whe.n  the  rose  garden  was  to  be 
thrown  open  to  the  royal  guests. 

175 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

yillon  pulled  a  rose  from  a  bush  by  his  hand  and 
gazed  into  its  crimson  heart  as  if  he  sought  to  read 
there  the  secret  which  all  flowers  hold  but  which  no 
flower  has  ever  yet  betrayed  to  the  longing  eyes  of  a 
poet.  He  leaned  against  the  statue  of  Pan  and 
mused  pensively. 

"  The  petals  of  my  reign  are  falling  from  me  full 
of  life,  full  of  colour  to  the  end.  Shall  I  win  this 
wonderful  woman?  Am  I  mad  to  hope  it?  If  I  lose, 
it  is  a  short  shrift  and  a  long  rope  at  the  end  of  a 
dazzling  dream." 

He  shivered  as  he  thought  and  cast  the  rose  he 
held  away  from  him. 

"How  cold  the  June  air  seems,  and  these  roses 
smell  of  graves."  He  paused  a  little  till  his  hopes 
took  heart  again.  "  But  if  I  win,  how  will  it  be,  I 
wonder,  to  marry  my  heart's  desire,  to  grow  old 
sedately,  to  live  again  with  the  children  on  my  knee, 
a  little  Frangois  here  more  honest  than  his  father,  a 
little  Katherine  there  less  comely  than  her  mother!  " 

He  flung  out  his  hands  as  if  he  were  dismissing  the 
phantoms  of  his  fancy. 

"  Run  away,  my  dear  dream  children  to  your  play- 
ground of  shadows  where  you  belong,  for  your  father 
may  be  hanged  to-morrow,  and  he  fights  for  love  and 
life  to-night." 

17(5 


IF  1  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

Villon's  reflections  were  fluttered  by  a  sudden 
blare  of  music,  and  a  gaudy  fellow  in  a  pursuivant's 
coat  made  his  appearance  on  the  top  of  the  terrace 
and  rattled  blast  after  blast  from  his  brazen  trum- 
pet. In  obedience  to  the  long-looked-for  signal,  a 
many-coloured  crowd  of  revellers  gushed  from  the 
palace  and  flowed  like  a  glowing  wave  of  merry- 
making down  the  steps  and  into  the  walks  and  alleys 
of  the  rose  garden.  All  the  strange  figures  that 
a  freakish  fancy  could  suggest  leaped  and  danced 
and  shouted  in  a  rapture  of  mirth — satyrs  and  follies, 
clowns  and  devils  wheeled  wildly  by,  waving 
torches,  clashing  cymbals,  or  screaming  at  the  top 
of  their  voices,  while  sedater  spirits,  masked  and 
muffled  in  mantles  of  sombre  hue,  moved  through 
the  tumultuous  throng  and  found  their  abated  pleas- 
ure in  mystification  and  intrigues. 

Villon  had  a  mask  in  his  girdle.  He  put  it  on  and 
pushing  into  the  press  allowed  himself  to  drift  hither 
and  thither  with  the  eddying  currents  of  pleasure. 
His  fantastic  imagination  took  fire  from  the  strange 
shapes  and  sounds  about  him.  The  sense  of  being 
in  a  dream,  which  had  never  deserted  him  from  the 
first  moment  of  his  awakened  consciousness  in  the 
rose  garden,  clung  closely  about  him  on  this  night, 
and  the  jocund  figures  around  him  flitted  by  as 
unreal  as  the  phantoms  of  a  noon-tide  sleep. 

177 


IF   I   WERE   KING 

Suddenly  his  attention  was  arrested  by  the  sound 
of  a  voice  that  seemed  familiar  to  him.  A  man 
habited  like  a  pilgrim  from  the  Holy  Land,  in  long 
hood  and  gabardine  of  grey,  and  with  the  pilgrim's 
cockleshell  on  his  shoulder,  had  met  another  masker, 
habited  like  himself.  The  pair  were  exchanging 
salutations,  in  a  speech  that  the  speakers  might  well 
assume  to  be  unknown  to  any  person  in  the  royal 
garden.  The  speech,  however,  jingled  very  famil- 
iarly on  Villon's  ear,  for  the  man  was  talking  in  the 
amazing  jargon  which  the  worshipful  company  of 
cockleshells  had  devised  for  the  better  furtherance  of 
their  thievish  purposes,  and  it  appealed  to  Villon  as 
intimately  as  a  song  that  is  learned  in  childhood. 

The  first  pilgrim  questioned  the  othert 

"  What  do  you  carry  in  your  scrip?  " 

And  the  second  answered: 

"  I  carry  a  cockleshell." 

The  first  pilgrim  questioned  again: 

"  What  do  you  carry  in  your  hand?  " 

And  the  second  responded: 

«  A  foot  of  steel." 

Yet  again  the  first  speaker  queried: 

"  Will  you  drink  the  king's  health?  » 

And  the  answer  came  decisively: 

*  Izi  a  flagon  of  Burgundy." 

178 


*F  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

Whereat  the  two  pilgrims  saluted  and  parted  and 
went  their  several  ways  and  were  swallowed  up  in 
the  motley  masquerade. 

Villon's  curiosity  was  piqued  to  the  quick. 

"  How  in  heaven's  name,"  he  asked  himself,  "  does 
it  come  to  pass  that  people  speaking  the  thieves' 
lingo  of  the  Court  of  Miracles  find  themselves  at  a 
feast  in  the  rose  garden  of  King  Louis?  " 

He  set  himself  to  try  and  track  down  one  or  the 
other  of  the  mysterious  pilgrims,  but  neither  of  them 
was  to  be  found.  His  wanderings  brought  him  back 
to  the  fair  space  at  the  foot  of  the  terrace  protected 
by  the  image  of  the  god  Pan.  The  place  was  desert- 
ed; the  revellers  had  drifted  elsewhere.  A  lute  lay 
on  the  marble  seat.  Villon  seated  himself  and  tak- 
ing up  the  instrument  was  touching  it  carelessly, 
when  a  light  step  on  the  grass  arrested  him,  the 
sweetest  voice  in  the  world  sounded  in  his  ears,  and 
he  found  himself  addressed  by  the  Lady  Katherine 
de  Vaucelles,  who  was  attended  by  a  number  of  fair 
court  ladies. 

"I  am  the  voice  of  these  ladies  to  pray  for  a 
favour." 

Villon  bowed  low. 

a  My  ear  is  all  obedience,"  he  said,  "  and  my  heart 
all  homage." 

179 


IF  1  WERE   KING 

a  You  are  a  poet,  my  lord,"  said  Katherine,  u  an<S 
this  is  an  eve  which  should  please  a  poet.  Rhyme 
us  a  rhyme  which  shall  match  this  night  of  summer." 

Villon  sighed  a  little. 

"No  rhyme  ever  rhymed  was  worth  a  beam  of 
summer  sun  or  summer  moon;  but  I  have  lingered 
in  Provence  where  every  man  is  a  nightingale,  and  I 
caught  there  the  fever  of  improvisation.  What  shall 
I  rhyme  about?  " 

Katherine  laughed  as  she  pointed  to  her  attendant 
ladies. 

"Your  suitors  are  women;  therefore,  nothing  bet- 
ter nor  worse  than  love." 

"  The  burden  of  the  world,"  Villon  said.  "  Sigh, 
my  lute,  sigh." 

He  let  his  fingers  ripple  over  the  strings,  waking 
the  faint  wail  of  a  plaintive  minor.  In  a  moment  or 
two  he  began  to  recite,  touching  every  now  and  then 
a  chord  on  his  lute  to  emphasize  the  words  he  spoke: 

"  I  wonder  in  what  Isle  of  Bliss 

Apollo's  music  fills  the  air; 
In  what  green  valley  Artemis 

For  young  Endymion  spreads  the  snares 
Where  Venus  lingers  debonair: 

The  Wind  has  blown  them  all  away— > 
And  Pan  lies  piping  in  his  lair — 

.Where  are  the  Gods  of  Yesterday? 

180 


'Louis  of  France,  we   bring  you   these  silks   for  your  carpet.' 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

"  Say  where  the  great  Semiramis 

Sleeps  in  a  rose-red  tomb;  and  where 
The  precious  dust  of  Caesar  is, 

Or  Cleopatra's  yellow  hair: 
Where  Alexander  Do-and-Dare; 

The  Wind  has  blown  them  all  away — 
And  Eedbeard  of  the  Iron  Chair; 

Where  are  the  Dreams  of  Yesterday? 

"  Where  is  the  Queen  of  Herod's  kiss, 
And  Phryne  in  her  beauty  bare; 
By  what  strange  sea  does  Tomyris 
With  Dido  and  Cassandra  share 
Divine  Proserpina's  despair; 

The  Wind  has  blown  them  all  away — 
For  what  poor  ghost  does  Helen  care? 
Where  are  the  Girls  of  Yesterday? 

u  Alas  for  lovers!    Pair  by  pair 

The  Wind  has  blown  them  all  away: 

The  young  and  yare,  the  fond  and  fair: 

Where  are  the  Snows  of  Yesterday?  " 

The  little  group  whom  he  addressed  lingered  in  a 
gracious  silence  for  a  short  space.  Singer  and  lis- 
teners seemed  to  be  in  an  exquisite  isolation  of 
moonlight  and  soft  odours.  Katherine  murmured 
pensively  to  herself: 

"  Where  are  the  snows  of  yesterday?  " 

Her  eyes  were  shining  like  summer  stars,  her 

181 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

parted  lips  made  Villon  think  of  ripe  pomegranates, 
her  mind  was  wandering  in  the  Islands  of  the  Blest 
with  the  lovers  and  ladies  whom  Villon  had  praised. 
Villon  dismissed  melancholy  with  a  jest: 

"Sweet  ladies,"  he  said;  "my  song  is  sung.  Do 
not  let  it  dishearten  you,  for,  believe  me,  it  will  snow 
again  next  year  and  lie  white  and  light  on  the  graves 
of  dead  lovers.  Yesterday  is  dead,  and  to-morrow 
comes  never." 

He  drew  very  close  to  Katherine  and  whispered 
the  end  of  his  sentence  in  her  ear: 

"  Let  us  live  and  love  to-day." 

Katherine  gave  a  little  start  as  she  dropped  from 
cloudland  and  looked  at  him.  He  drew  back  and 
turned  to  the  others. 

"  Fair  ladies,"  he  said;  "  shall  we  go  to  the  great 
hall  where  the  Italian  players  gambol?  " 

The  women  gathered  about  him,  thanking  him  for 
his  song,  and  then  fluttered  away  like  brilliant  birds, 
up  the  steps  to  the  terrace.  As  they  did  so  a  figure 
in  a  pilgrim's  gown  came  from  the  scented  gloom  of 
one  of  the  rose  alleys,  paused  for  a  moment  as  if  un- 
decided as  to  his  course,  and  then  proceeded  to  cross 
the  space  of  moonlit  grass.  He  did  not  heed  Kath- 
erine, standing  in  the  shadow,  till  he  almost  touched 
her.  Then  he  glanced  at  her,  and  with  a  stifled 

182 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

exclamation  hurried  past,  plunged  into  the  darkness 
of  an  opposite  alley,  and  disappeared.  Katherine 
gave  a  little  cry  that  was  almost  a  cry  of  fear,  and 
ran  swiftly  to  where  Villon  stood  apart  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps  awaiting  her  pleasure. 

"My  lord!"  she  cried,  and  he,  turning,  swiftly 
responded : 

"My  lady!" 

"  This  masking  kindles  fancies.  I  thought  but 
now  that  the  eyes  of  Thibaut  d'Aussigny  glared  on 
me  from  under  a  pilgrim's  hood." 

Villon  frowned. 

"  A  villainous  apparition.  For  the  news  is  that 
he  lies  dead  in  the  camp  of  Burgundy." 

Katherine  gave  a  little  shudder. 

"  I  always  hated  him ;  almost  feared  him.  If  he  be 
dead,  I  hope  he  will  not  haunt  me.  Ah!  I  tingle 
to-night  like  a  lute  that  is  tuned  too  high." 

"  Let  us  think  of  no  evil  things  to-night,"  Villon 
responded.  "  Will  you  watch  the  players?  " 

Katherine  shook  her  head. 

"Nay,  I  am  more  in  a  mood  for  moonlight  than 
candlelight." 

Villon  looked  at  her  in  silence,  a  silence  of  sec- 
onds that  seemed  to  both  of  them  like  the  silence  of 
hours.  The  hearts  of  both  were  houses  of  sweet 

183 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

hopes,  and  the  brains  of  both  were  hives  of  happy 
thoughts. 

"  May  I  ask  you  a  question?  "  Villon  said,  and  the 
girl  answered: 

"  Surely." 

"  Are  you  content  with  me?  " 

"  You  have  done  much." 

"  I  have  more  to  do.  For  seven  days  I  have  wres- 
tled with  greatness  as  Jacob  wrestled  with  the 
angels;  I  have  made  the  king  popular,  the  Parisians 
loyal,  the  army  faithful " 

"Then  why  do  you  linger  here  where  courtiers 
feast  and  ladies  dance?  " 

Villon's  voice  swelled  proudly  as  he  answered: 

"  I  want  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  to  believe  that  the 
king's  favourite  is  a  zany,  and  the  king's  court  an 
orgy,  where  the  king's  honour  melts  like  a  pearl  in 
a  pot  of  vinegar.  But  our  swords  are  tempered  in 
wine  and  sharpened  to  dance  music,  and  to-night  we 
ride." 

The  girl  sighed.  "  I  would  that  I  were  a  man  that 
I  might  ride  with  you." 

Villon  came  close  to  her  and  peered  into  her  eyes. 

"I  ride  in  your  honour.  Heaven  has  been  very 
good  to  me,  and  I  serve  France  serving  you.  Per- 
haps I  serve  both  for  the  last  time." 

"  For  the  last  time?  "  she  repeated. 

184 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

"  Even  so,  my  sweet  Lady  Echo.  Those  far  away 
lanterns  warn  me  that  I  may  die  to-morrow.  Some 
of  us  will  be  dreaming  our  last  dreams  by  sunrise. 
I  may  be  one  of  those  heavy  sleepers." 

"  Why,  you  may  die  if  you  ride  on  the  king's  busi- 
ness, but  so  may  I  who  sit  at  home  and  eat  my 
heart." 

"For  whom?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  that  to-morrow." 

Villon  touched  her  lightly  on  the  wrist  and  point- 
ed to  the  grey  tower  on  whose  weather-beaten  wall 
the  quaint  old  dial  showed  plainly  in  the  bright 
moonlight,  with  its  wise  Latin  inscription:  "Dum 
Spectas,  Fugit  Hora,  Carpe  Diem." 

"  There  is  no  time  like  now  time.  That  dial  there 
is  as  wise  as  the  wisest."  And  he  rapidly  rendered 
the  antique  maxim  into  a  running  rhyme: 

"  Observe  how  fast  time  hurries  past, 

Then  use  each  hour  while  in  your  power; 
For  comes  the  sun  but  time  flies  on, 
Proceeding  ever,  returning  never." 

Katherine  tried  to  laugh. 

"  This  was  old  wisdom  when  Noah  sailed  the  seas," 
she  said,  and  drew  a  little  apart  from  him.  .Villon 
followed  her. 

IRR 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"  Well,  let  to-morrow  tell  to-morrow's  story.  To- 
night I  feel  like  a  happy  child  in  a  world  of  make- 
believe.  To-night  we  are  immortal,  you  and  I,  wan- 
dering forever  in  this  green  garden  under  those  in- 
different stars,  breathing  this  rose-scented  air,  spell- 
ing the  secret  of  the  world." 

"  You  may  say  what  you  please  to-morrow,"  she 
whispered,  but  Villon  would  not  have  it  so. 

"  Alas,  no!  To-morrow  I  shall  be  mortally  sober; 
to-night  I  am  divinely  drunk — drunk  with  star  wine, 
flower  wine,  song  wine.  The  stars  burn  my  brain; 
the  roses  pierce  my  flesh ;  the  songs  trouble  my  soul. 
To-night,  if  I  dared,  I  would  ease  my  heart." 

The  girl  spoke  so  faintly  that  only  a  lover's  ears 
could  hear  the  words : 

"  You  may  say  what  you  please  to-night." 

Villon  caught  at  his  heart  as  if  to  keep  it  in  the 
compass  of  his  breast. 

"  If  I  were  to  die  to-morrow,  I  would  tell  you  this 
to-night:  I  love  you.  These  are  easy  words  to  say, 
yet  my  heart  fails  as  I  say  them,  for  their  meaning 
is  as  full  and  musical  as  the  Bell  of  Doom.  Men 
are  such  fools  that  they  have  but  one  name  for  a 
thousand  meanings,  and  beggar  the  poor  love-word 
to  base  kitchen  usages  and  work-a-day  desires.  But 
I  would  keep  it  holy  for  the  flame  which  it  some- 

186 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

times  pleases  heaven  to  light  in  one  heart  for  the 
worship  of  another.  I  never  knew  what  love  was 
till  I  saw  a  girl's  face  on  a  May  morning  and  wisdom 
stripped  the  rind  from  my  naked  heart.  The  God  in 
me  leaped  into  being  to  greet  the  God  in  your  eyes. 
I  love  you.  This  is  what  I  would  say  if  I  were  to  die 
to-morrow." 

He  was  very  close  to  her  now,  and  his  eyes  were 
looking  into  her  eyes.  She  answered  him  frankly: 

"  If  you  were  to  die  to-morrow,  I  might  tell  you 
this  much  to-night.  A  woman  may  love  a  man  be- 
cause he  is  brave,  or  because  he  is  comely,  or  because 
he  is  wise,  or  gentle — for  a  thousand  thousand  rea- 
sons. But  the  best  of  all  reasons  for  a  woman  loving 
a  man  is  just  because  she  loves  him,  without  rhyme 
and  without  reason,  because  heaven  wills  it,  because 
earth  fulfils  it,  because  his  hand  is  of  the  right  size 
to  hold  her  heart  in  its  hollow." 

The  lovers'  hands  were  closely  clasped,  the  lovers' 
lips  were  very  near  to  meeting.  Only  the  god  Pan 
smiled  and  sneered  as  if  he  knew  that  sometimes 
lovers'  lips  fail  to  meet  even  when  the  space  between 
fervent  mouth  and  mouth  is  no  bigger  than  a  rose- 
leaf. 

"  Katherine,"  Villon  whispered,  and  drow  her 
closer  to  him.  Love,  happiness,  life  were  coining  to 
his  arms  as  to  a  shrine. 


187 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

In  the  sudden  bliss  that  had  come  upon  both  the 
lovers  they  paid  no  heed  to  a  footstep  upon  the  ter- 
race, till  a  voice  struck  like  a  sword-stroke  across 
their  ecstasy,  the  voice  of  Noel  le  Jolys. 

*  Where  are  the  lovers  of  yesterday?  "  Noel  said 
mockingly  as  he  slowly  descended  the  steps  to  join 
them. 

There  was  a  red  rage  in  Villon's  heart,  but  he 
bridled  it  as  he  turned  upon  the  interloper  con- 
temptuously. 

"  Your  pink  and  white  lady-bird,"  he  said  to  Kath- 
erine,  and  then  waving  his  hand  at  Noel  with  a 
gesture  of  disdain  and  dismissal,  chanted  at  him: 

"  Lady-bird,  lady-bird,  fly  away  home." 

Noel's  pink  face  flushed  a  poppy  red  and  his  white 
hand  went  to  his  sword  hilt.  There  was  courage  in 
the  foppish  substance,  and  he  would  clearly  have 
rejoiced  to  try  his  chance  in  a  passage-at-arms. 

"  My  lord,"  he  said,  "  I  will  measure  word  and 
sword  with  you  at  any  season,  but  now  I  seek  prom- 
ised speech  with  this  lady." 

•Villon  laughed  at  his  menace. 

"  While  I  have  better  business  in  hand,  you  shall 
know  only  the  smooth  of  my  tongue  and  the  flat  of 
my  falchion.  Compass  your  swelling  heart  lest  yon 
play  the  lion  before  a  lady." 

188 


IF  I  WERE   TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

The  two  men  eyed  each  other  like  angry  dogs, 
eager  to  spring  at  each  other's  throats.  Katherine 
dropped  her  restraining  hand  on  Villon's  arm. 

"  My  lord,"  she  whispered,  "  he  has  importuned  me 
for  audience.  I  will  speak  with  you  again  ere  you 
ride." 

Villon  turned  to  her. 

"We  ride  at  nine,  remember,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice;  and  then  in  a  louder  tone,  looking  at  Noel,  he 
added  mockingly,  "  Till  then  I  shall  busy  myself  in 
writing  my  last  will  and  testament,  and  bequeathing 
a  thousand  nothings  to  a  thousand  nobodies  to  pu«- 
zle  posterity.  You  shall  taste  of  my  bounty,  Messire 
Noel,"  and  he  began  to  improvise  derisively: 

"  To  Messire  Noel,  named  the  neat 
By  those  who  love  him,  I  bequeath 
A  helmless  ship,  a  houseless  street, 
'A  wordless  book,  a  swordless  sheath, 
'An  hourless  clock,  a  leafless  wreath, 
A  bed  sans  sheet,  a  board  sans  meat, 
A  bell  sans  tongue,  a  saw  sans  teeth, 
To  make  his  nothingness  complete." 

Noel  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  his  back. 
He  was  very  irate,  but  he  was  resolved  to  show  noth- 
ing but  indifference. 

189 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"Do  you  leave  me  nothing?"  Katherine  whis- 
pered, and  Villon  answered: 

"  Now  and  always  the  heart  of  my  heart." 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  glided  into  the  liquid 
darkness  of  the  rose  alley,  alone  with  exquisite 
thoughts. 

Katherine  turned  to  Noel  haughtily. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

"  I  have  always  to  seek  you  nowadays,"  Noel  pro- 
tested. 

Katherine  tossed  her  head,  and  her  tresses  trem- 
bled like  leaves  in  the  moonlight. 

"  The  world  is  not  yet  so  old  that  the  wooing  must 
be  done  by  women." 

"  I  am  out  of  favour,"  Noel  complained,  "  since  a 
fellow  from  nowhere  plays  the  fool  in  high  places." 

Katherine's  eyes  showered  scorn  upon  him. 

"  I  do  not  hate  you  for  railing  at  him,  but  it  does 
not  help  me  to  love  you." 

Noel  caught  at  the  word. 

"  You  loved  me  once,"  he  asserted. 

She  shook  her  head  pityingly. 

"We  played  with  great  words  as  children  play 
with  coloured  balls.  It  is  easy  to  say  '  I  love  you/ 
and  often  very  sweet;  yet  the  coloured  balls  roll  into 
the  corner,  and  the  child  forgets  them  when  the 
moon  of  childhood  wanes." 


190 


IF  I  WERE   TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

A  wistful  irritation  puckered  Noel's  smooth  coun- 
tenance. 

"  You  have  outgrown  me?  "  he  questioned. 

Katherine  drew  away  from  him  till  the  moonlight 
that  shone  between  them  lay  wide  and  white.  She 
answered  quietly: 

"  My  soul  was  in  bud  a  week  ago.  To-day  it  is  in 
blossom." 

Noel  threw  up  his  arms  impatiently. 

"  God  have  mercy!  What  can  this  fellow  do  that 
is  denied  to  me?  Can  he  stride  a  horse,  or  fly  a  hawk 
better?  show  a  brighter  sword  in  quarrel,  or  tune  a 
smoother  lute  in  calm?  Can  he  out-dance  me,  out- 
drink  me,  out-courtier  me,  out-soldier  me?  No,  no, 
no!  And  must  I  now  believe  that  he  can  out-love 
xne?" 

Katherine,  weary  of  the  controversy,  began  to 
ascend  the  steps  to  the  palace.  She  spoke  as  she 
mounted : 

"  When  a  man  comes  to  court,  it  is  worth  while 
to  be  a  woman.  You  will  learn  that  some  day,  Sir 
Noel,  if  you  grow  to  be  a  man." 

Noel  retorted: 

"  It  is  no  great  blazon  to  be  the  favourite  of  a 
king.  Gentlemen  who  brag  little  may  do  much.  The 
old  love  may  outlast  the  new." 

191 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

Katherine  frowned  at  his  mystery. 

"  You  speak  like  a  scented  Sphinx,  but  I  am  too 
idle  for  enigmas.  Farewell! "  and  she  vanished  into 
the  palace. 

Noel  looked  after  her  fretfully: 

"  Why  are  the  women  all  sunflowers  to  this  scara- 
mouch?" he  asked  himself  querulously.  "Well, 
there  are  other  women,  and  a  wise  man  gathers  the 
nearest  grapes." 

A  flagon  and  cup  stood  on  the  table  by  the  marble 
seat.  Noel  poured  himself  out  some  wine  and  drank 
it,  seeking  consolation.  His  duty  called  him  shortly 
to  the  service  of  the  king,  but  he  lingered  in  the 
garden  on  the  chance  of  a  hoped-for  meeting. 

"  I  shall  be  revenged,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  if  my 
astrologer  plays  his  part  and  tells  the  weak  king 
that  this  Lord  of  Montcorbier  is  his  evil  spirit." 

His  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  events  of  the  past 
week;  if  Katherine  had  been  disdainful,  the  girl 
Huguette  had  been  kind,  and  the  Golden  Scull  had 
found  the  dainty  soldier  a  frequent  visitor.  It  was 
Huguette  who,  after  listening  to  Noel's  complaints 
of  the  Grand  Constable,  had  suggested  to  him,  in 
apparent  artlessness  of  heart,  that  he  could  play 
upon  the  king's  superstitions  through  a  new  astrol- 
oger and  had  promised  to  find  him  a  star-gazer  who 

192 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

would  say  anything  and  everything  that  Messire 
Noel  wished  to  have  said.  The  scheme  had  appealed 
to  Noel,  and  this  very  evening  he  expected  Huguette 
to  bring  the  astrologer  to  him,  to  which  end  he  had 
entrusted  her  with  a  password  which  would  admit 
strangers  into  the  royal  garden. 

As  he  mused,  a  figure  in  a  pilgrim's  gown  came 
cautiously  out  of  the  shadows  into  the  moonlight 
behind  him  and  stood  -for  a  moment  watching  him. 
The  god  Pan  could  see  the  face  that  smiled  under 
the  pilgrim's  hood — a  girl's  face,  with  bright  eyes 
framed  in  golden  hair,  but  when  the  girl  saw  Noel, 
she  slipped  a  mask  over  her  face,  drew  her  pilgrim's 
gown  closely  about  her  slim  body,  and  tip-toed 
lightly  across  the  grass  to  touch  Noel  on  the 
shoulder. 

Noel  turned  with  a  start,  and  faced,  as  he  believed, 
a  masquerading  palmer. 

"May  I  vend  you  a  benevolence,  gentleman?" 
Huguette  asked,  disguising  her  voice  in  an  unfamil- 
iar gruffness. 

Noel  waved  aside  importunacy. 

"  Pass  your  ways,  pilgrim.  I  am  in  no  mood  for 
motley." 

He  turned  away,  but  the  persistent  pilgrim  fol- 
lowed him. 


193 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"Are  you  in  a  maid's  mood,  or  a  mood  for  a 
maid?" 

Noel  stopped  impatiently. 

"  Are  you  pander  as  well  as  pilgrim?  I  wait  for  a 
.woman." 

The  pilgrim's  pertinacity  was  not  to  be  baffled. 

"  Is  she  tall  or  short,  young  or  old,  dark  or  fair, 
sweet  or  sour?  " 

Noel  answered  whimsically: 

"  She  is  of  the  colour  of  the  chameleon,  of  the  age 
of  the  ancient  world,  of  the  height  of  any  man's 
heart,  and  as  bitter-sweet  as  a  crushed  quince." 

The  girl  pulled  off  her  mask  and  threw  back  her 
hood. 

"  Is  she  of  my  feet,  favour,  years  and  savour?  " 

The  moment  he  saw  her  face  Noel  gave  a  cry  of 
delight. 

"  You  are  welcome,  witch,"  he  shouted,  "  for  you 
bring  the  best  love  in  the  world ! " 

He  sprang  to  catch  the  girl  in  his  arms,  but  she 
repulsed  him  gently. 

"Hush!  I  am  no  love-monger  now,  no  gallantry 
girl,  but  a  most  politic  plotter.  The  world  spins  like 
a  potter's  wheel  to  shape  the  vessel  of  our  enter- 
prise. We  have  a  wizard  ready  for  your  king.  Will 
Louis  come?  " 


194 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

Noel  nodded  decisively. 

"  As  linnet  to  looking-glass.  He  is  greedy  of  star- 
wisdom.  Does  your  astrologer  know  his  lesson?  " 

"  He  is  parrot-perfect.  When  all  is  quiet,  give  an 
owl's  cry  thrice,  and  a  friend  will  bring  him.  He 
will  warn  the  king  against  his  Grand  Constable;  he 
will  praise  Tristan,  applaud  Olivier,  and  commend 
Messire  Noel  le  Jolys." 

Noel  chuckled. 

"  Then  I  shall  be  king  of  the  castle,  and  you  shall 
have  a  great  gold  chain  and  pearls  as  big  as  a  virgin's 
tears." 

Noel  did  not  detect  the  scorn  in  Huguette's  voice, 
as  she  answered  with  apparent  amiability: 

"  You  know  the  way  to  win  a  woman." 

"  I  am  no  jingling  rhyme-broker,  I  thank  heaven!  " 
Noel  cried.  "  I  pay  my  way." 

He  caught  Huguette  in  his  arms  as  he  spoke  and 
sought  to  kiss  her,  but  she  avoided  him  dexterously. 

"  I  will  kiss  you  when  you  win,"  she  cried. 

Noel  would  have  pushed  his  suit  further,  but  at 
that  moment  the  great  clock  of  the  palace  chimed 
the  half-hour  and  struck  upon  his  memory  as  well  aa 
upon  his  ear.  He  knew  that  the  king  expected  him 
and  he  abandoned  his  love-making  reluctantly. 

"  You  are  indeed  a  politician,"  he  sighed.  "  I  must 
wait  on  the  king." 

195 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

He  opened  the  door  of  the  tower  and  stood  for  a 
moment  looking  regretfully  at  the  girl,  who  smiled 
at  him  temptingly,  then  he  passed  in  and  drew  the 
door  behind  him. 

The  moment  he  had  disappeared,  the  girl's  bearing 
changed.  Her  face  and  gesture  blazoned  a  world  of 
contempt  for  her  courtier  lover. 

"Fool,  dunce,  dolt,  ass,  peacock,  buzzard,  owl!" 
she  stormed.  Then  her  rage  faded  and  she  turned 
sadly  on  her  heel  as  another  man's  name  came  into 
her  heart  and  fluttered  to  her  lips.  "  The  world  is  as 
sour  as  a  rotten  orange  since  Francois  went  into 
exile." 

Her  glance  fell  on  the  lute  which  lay  on  the  mar- 
ble seat  where  Villon  had  left  it.  She  took  it  up  and 
began  to  thrum  it  pensively,  whispering  to  herself 
the  words  of  Villon's  song: 

"  Daughters  of  Pleasure,  one  and  all, 
Of  form  and  features  delicate," 

she  murmured  to  herself.  As  she  did  so,  Villon, 
weary  of  wandering  in  the  rose  alleys,  came  into  the 
moonlit  space  and  saw  the  cloaked  and  hooded  figure 
where  it  sat.  In  a  moment  his  mind  recalled  the 
strange  greetings  he  had  overheard  between  the  two 
pilgrims. 


196 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

"  There  is  another  of  those  pilgrims,"  he  said  to 
himself,  determined  now  to  solve  the  mystery.  He 
crossed  the  grass  quickly  to  the  figure's  side  and 
saluted  it. 

"  Hail,  little  brother." 

Huguette  leaped  to  her  feet  and  answered  lightly: 

"  Hail,  little  sister." 

"  Why  little  sister?  "  Villon  asked  in  some  aston- 
ishment. 

The  masked  pilgrim  answered  him  smartly: 

"  If  I  am  a  brother  of  yours,  you  must  need  be  a 
sister  of  mine.  But  you  talk  out  of  the  litany." 

"  What  harm,"  Villon  retorted,  "  if  you  give  me 
responses?  " 

Huguette  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  I  will  give  you  no  more  than  good-bye,"  she  said, 
and  turned  to  leave  him,  but  Villon  caught  her  by 
the  arm. 

"You  shall  not  show  me  your  heels  till  I  show 
myself  your  face,"  he  insisted. 

Before  the  girl  could  prevent  him,  he  had  flung 
back  her  hood  and  snatched  the  mask  from  her  face. 
To  his  amazement  he  found  himself  looking  on  the 
fair,  familiar  face  of  Huguette,  and  in  astonishment 
he  cried  her  name.  The  girl,  astounded  at  being 
recognized,  came  close  to  him. 

197 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"  Who  are  you?  "  she  asked. 

For  answer,  Villon  unmasked. 

Huguette  looked  closely  into  his  face,  at  first 
.without  any  sign  of  recognition,  then  suddenly  the 
knowledge  came  to  her  and  she  caught  him  in  her 
arms  with  a  cry  of  joy. 

"  Francois,  you  dear  devil,  where  have  you  been 
this  thousand  years?  They  said  you  were  banished. 
How  brave  you  are!  Where  did  you  steal  so  much 
splendour?  Are  you  cutting  purses?  Are  you  pluck- 
ing mantles?  " 

Villon  tried  to  stay  her  questions. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Abbess?  " 

"  The  fair  fool  Noel  has  taken  a  week-long  fancy 
to  me,  and  I  am  making  an  age-long  fool  of  him. 
Kiss  me,"  she  urged,  putting  her  face  very  near  to 
Villon's.  Villon  drew  back  his  head. 

"You  should  keep  your  kisses  for  the  fair  fool 
NoeL" 

Huguette  drew  away  from  him  angrily. 

"  When  you  were  as  lean  as  a  cat  and  as  ragged 
as  a  sparrow,  you  were  not  so  nice  a  precisian.  Has 
some  great  lady  bewitched  you?  Can  you  only  woo 
in  silk  and  win  in  velvet?  If  the  kernel  be  sweet, 
.what  does  the  husk  matter?  Heaven's  pity!  Why 
should  a  woman  love  you?  " 

198 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

Villon  took  no  notice  of  her  petulance  bnt  re- 
peated his  question: 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  Abbess?  " 

The  girl's  rage  was  as  short  as  a  summer's  shower. 
She  turned  again  to  him,  fondling  him. 

"  Well,  I  cannot  shut  the  door  of  my  heart  in  your 
smooth  face.  Ren£  de  Montigny  has  a  great  game 
afoot,  and  you  are  back  in  time  to  share  in  it." 

«  What  game?  »  Villon  asked. 

Huguette  answered: 

"  The  fair  fool  Noel,  advised  by  me,  has  persuaded 
ihe  king  to  see  an  astrologer  here  to-night  when  the 
gardens  are  quiet.  Noel  believes  that  the  astrologer 
will  advise  the  king  to  fling  his  Grand  Constable  out 
of  the  window  and  call  Messire  Noel  in  at  the  door, 
but  the  comrades  of  the  cockleshell  really  mean 
much  more  mischief.  When  once  we  get  the  king 
within  reach  of  our  fingers,  we  mean  to  snap  him  up 
and  carry  him  out  of  Paris,  willy  nilly,  and  sell  him 
to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy." 

Villon  caught  his  breath. 

"A  great  game!"  he  cried.  "But  who  is  thia 
astrologer?  " 

"  Thibaut  d'Aussigny,"  she  answered,  "  who  pre- 
tends to  be  dead,  but  who  lives  for  this  revenge." 

Villon  leaped  to  his  feet.  He  remembered  what 
Katherine  thought  she  had  seen. 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

*  Then  it  was  he!  "  he  said. 

Huguette  went  on  with  her  story. 

"  Noel  is  to  give  us  the  signal  by  crying  an  owl's 
cry  thrice." 

Villon  was  revolving  many  thoughts  in  his  mind 
and  he  hardly  heeded  her. 

"  This  adventure  of  the  astrologer  might  be  turned 
to  my  advantage.  Here  is  a  chance  in  a  thousand," 
he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  paced  restlessly  on  the 
grass.  "  I  have  but  to  close  my  eyes  and  shut  my 
ears  and  the  good  Thibaut  carries  the  good  Louis  to 
the  good  Burgundy  to-night,  and  there  can  be  no 
hanging  to-morrow." 

The  girl  followed  after  him,  catching  at  his  sleeve 
to  stay  him. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  " 

Villon  went  on,  unheeding  her,  whispering  to  him- 
self: 

"  If  they  cut  Gaffer  Louis'  throat  between  them, 
the  world  were  rid  of  a  crooked-witted  king,  and  I 
free  to  win  Katherine,  hold  Paris,  be  the  first  man  in 
France " 

"  Francois,  speak  to  me,"  Huguette  pleaded,  but 
she  pleaded  in  vain. 

"  One  would  say  I  were  a  fool  to  let  such  occasion 
slip  through  my  ten  commandments.  But  I  have 

200 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

learned  a  thing  called  honour,  which  I  must  not  lose 
for  the  sake  of  my  lady." 

Huguette  flung  herself  in  front  of  him  and  stopped 
his  restless  walk. 

"  Francois!    Francois! " 

"  Yes,  child,  yes." 

"  What  does  it  matter  to  you  what  they  do  with 
the  fool  king?  " 

"  Abbess,  I  must  have  a  finger  in  this  pie.  Abbess, 
for  the  old  sake's  sake,  will  you  keep  me  a  secret?  " 

The  girl  looked  Tip  at  him  lovingly. 

"  I  will  always  do  your  bidding." 

"  I  have  a  mind  to  play  my  part  in  this  enterprise. 
I  am  the  king  of  the  Cockleshells  and  I  have  returned 
to  authority.  Give  me  your  pilgrim's  gown,  girl,  and 
mind,  not  a  word  to  the  brotherhood.  I  want  to  take 
friend  Thibaut  by  surprise." 

As  he  spoke,  he  pulled  off  the  pilgrim's  gown,  and 
Huguette  stood  before  him  in  her  familiar  boy's 
dress  of  green. 

"  Hide  among  the  roses  until  the  sport  begins,"  he 
cried. 

The  girl  flung  her  arms  about  him. 

"  Dear  Francois  !  "  she  cried,  and  then  ran  swiftly 
away  from  him  and  disappeared  into  the  rose-scented 
night. 

201 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Villon  looked  after  the  girl  as  she  ran. 

"  The  girl  is  as  fleet  as  a  hare  and  as  wild  witted," 
he  said  to  himself.  Then  he  flung  Huguette  from  his 
thoughts  and  faced  the  great  problem. 

"  How  does  the  balance  go?  "  he  asked  himself, 
and  he  weighed  the  air  with  his  hands  as  if  their 
cups  held  the  precious  things  he  spoke  of. 

"In  the  one  hand,  a  great  king's  life;  in  the  other, 
a  poor  poet's  honour.  King,  beggar,  beggar,  king." 

He  paused  a  moment,  looking  down  the  long  lane 
of  infinite  possibilities.  He  owed  nothing  to  Louis 
after  all.  Louis  had  made  him  the  plaything  of  a 
shameless  trick;  had  thrust  honour  upon  him  in 
mockery;  had  tantalized  him  with  a  dream  of  a 
dream.  Ere  another  sunset,  if  a  woman's  heart  were 
not  his  for  the  winning,  he  would  be  swinging,  grisly 
enough,  with  his  tongue  through  his  teeth,  and  the 
ravens  wheeling  about  his  ears,  upon  the  Paris  gal- 
lows. It  was  but  to  let  Thibaut  d'Aussigny  play 
out  his  play  and  snare  the  old  black  fox,  and  then 
Villon  had  Paris  to  himself,  was  absolved  from  all 
penalty,  might  in  the  light  of  the  new  love  the  people 
had  for  him,  do,  or  at  least  try  to  do,  pretty  much 
as  he  pleased  with  the  kingless  kingdom.  It  was  a 
dazzling  prospect. 

"  Why  not?"  he  asked  himself.  Then,  in  a  moment, 

202 


IF  I  WERE  TO  DIE  TO-MORROW 

the  reasons  why  not  rose  up  against  him — not  to 
be  cheated,  not  to  be  banished.  He  had  given  his 
word;  he  had  sworn  fealty  to  the  fantastic  monarch 
who  had  played  with  him  and  to  whom  he  owed  at 
least  the  realization  of  great  dreams  and  the  golden 
chance  of  winning  his  heart's  desire.  He  had  given 
his  word.  That  would  not  have  meant  much  to  him 
eight  days  ago  when  he  lived  in  a  sick  atmosphere 
of  lies  and  dodges  and  tricks  and  meannesses,  where 
the  lips  were  as  ready  to  deceive  as  the  fingers  to 
filch,  and  where  a  successful  falsehood  was  almost 
as  much  applauded  as  a  successful  theft.  But  now, 
as  he  had  said,  he  had  learned  a  thing  called  honour; 
the  whole  meaning  of  life  had  been  changed  for  him 
in  the  sunshine  of  a  fair  girl's  favour,  and  what  was 
but  yesterday  possible,  probable,  even  pleasant,  was 
to-day  surely  impossible.  He  murmured  her  name  to 
himself — "Katherine!" — as  a  charm  against  hor- 
rible temptation,  and  his  heart  strengthened  under 
the  spell. 

He  turned  to  enter  the  tower,  but  as  he  did  so  the 
tower  door  was  pushed  out  against  him  and  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  Noel  le  Jolys.  Noel  started 
in  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  his  rival,  but  Villon 
caught  him  by  the  wrist.  The  poor  popinjay  was  too 
brave  a  bird  to  be  Thibaut  d'Aussigny's  decoy-duck. 

203 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"Messire  Noel,"  he  said;  "I  have  a  word  to  say 
in  your  ear,"  and  he  drew  him  inside  the  tower  and 
stood  with  him  for  a  moment  in  the  darkness,  whis- 
pering speech  that  made  Noel's  pulse  beat  fast.  Then 
Villon  left  him  and  sped  swiftly  up  the  winding 
stairs  that  led  to  the  king's  room,  while  Noel,  left 
alone,  pushed  open  the  door  again  and  passed  out 
into  the  garden,  his  head  dizzy  with  strange  news. 
Placing  his  hands  like  a  shell  about  his  mouth,  he 
gave  the  cry  of  an  owl  three  times  with  a  little  in- 
terval between  each  cry,  and  then  softly  withdrew 
again  into  the  tower,  and  in  his  turn  raced  with  a 
throbbing  heart  up  the  narrow  steps  that  led  to  the 
king's  chamber. 


204 


CHAPTER  X 
UNDER  WHICH  KING? 

XHE  rose  garden  seemed  to  be  as  quiet  as  a  church- 
yard. No  sound  was  heard  save  the  faint  soughing 
of  the  evening  wind  among  the  rose  bushes,  no  sight 
resembling  humanity  visible  save  the  face  of  Pan 
looking  down  mockingly  upon  the  crimson  blossoms 
that  girdled  him.  Yet  in  a  few  seconds  it  became 
plain  that  the  god  Pan  was  not  the  only  occupant 
of  the  garden.  Through  quiet  alleyways,  cloaked 
and  cowled  figures  came  stealing,  six  in  number — 
men  with  pilgrims'  cloaks  about  their  shoulders,  and 
pilgrims'  hoods  upon  their  heads — men  who  carried 
cockleshells  upon  the  sleeves  of  their  gabardines — 
all  converging  through  the  dark  walks  of  the  garden 
to  a  common  centre,  and  that  centre  the  grassy  space 
before  the  king's  watch  tower.  The  six  figures  hud- 
dled together  at  the  base  of  the  image  of  Pan.  One 
of  them  who  seemed  to  be  their  leader,  a  man  of 
giant  form,  spoke,  and  the  voice  was  the  voice  of 
Thibaut  d'Aussigny. 

"  Are  we  all  here?  "  he  asked. 

The  nearest  pilgrim  to  him  answered  with  the 
voice  of  Rend  de  Montigny. 

205 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

"  Aye,  and  ready  to  gather  the  royal  rose  of  this 
garden." 

As  he  spoke  there  came  a  faint  click  at  the  latch 
of  the  tower  door.  Thibaut  waved  his  companions 
apart. 

"  Keep  close,"  he  said,  and  four  of  the  pilgrim 
forms  disappeared  swiftly  into  the  spaces  of  shadow. 
Only  Thibant  and  Ren6  remained,  standing  masked 
and  attentive,  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  tower  door. 
It  opened  and  Noel  le  Jolys  emerged,  followed  by, 
the  slight,  hunched  figure  in  faded  black  velvet  for 
whom  the  eyes  of  the  conspirators  were  so  eager. 
Noel  advanced  questioning: 

"  Is  the  star-gazer  here?  " 

Ren6  de  Montigny  answered  him  glibly  as  a  show- 
man patters  the  praise  of  his  wares. 

"  Aye.  He  is  the  wonder  of  the  world.  He  can 
read  the  stars  more  easily  than  a  tapster  the  score 
on  his  shutter.  He  can  spell  you  the  high  luck  and 
the  low.  Bohemian,  Egyptian,  Arabian  wisdom 
have  no  mysteries  for  him." 

As  Rene"  ceased,  the  royal  figure  with  a  sweeping 
gesture  of  his  hand  made  a  sign  of  dismissal  to  Noel, 
who  bowed  respectfully  and  withdrew  into  the  tow- 
er. The  king  then  beckoned  to  the  mighty  figure 
in  the  palmer's  weed,  and  Thibaut  advanced  slowly 

206 


UNDER  WHICH  KING? 

until  he  was  within  touch  of  his  prey,  when  he  sud- 
denly flung  out  his  great  hand  and  caught  his  enemy 
by  the  throat,  gripping  him  into  silence  while  his 
right  hand  bared  and  brandished  a  dagger.  The 
figure  in  black  dropped  under  his  grasp,  trembled 
and  gasped,  but  the  hand  of  Thibaut  was  too  strong 
upon  him  and  he  could  not  speak  or  cry  out.  Thibaut 
hissed  at  him: 

"  Sire,  I  can  decipher  your  destiny.  Do  not  speak 
or  I  will  kill  you!" 

He  pressed  the  point  of  the  dagger  close  to  the 
captive's  neck  and  smiled  to  see  him  shudder. 

"  I  am  Thibaut  d'Aussigny,  sire,  whom  you 
thought  to  be  dead,  but  who  lives  to  prison  you." 

As  he  spoke  his  companions  emerged  from  the 
gloom  and  gathered  around  Thibaut  and  the  king,  a 
little  menacing  circle  of  determined  men. 

"  You  are  in  the  toils.  Silent  you  are  still  a  man; 
give  tongue  and  you  are  simple  carrion.  You  must 
come  to  the  knees  of  Burgundy.  You  shall  be  the 
Duke's  footstool!" 

The  cowering  black  figure  wriggled  and  quivered 
as  if  every  one  of  Thibaut's  words  were  a  stroke  of  a 
whip  that  cut  into  his  flesh;  his  eager  hands  clawed 
piteously  at  Thibaut's  grasping  arm,  until  his  very 
agony  of  terror  aroused  the  contempt  of  his  captor. 

207 


IF  I   WERE   KING 

He  pushed  the  king  from  him  contemptuously,  and' 
the  king  dropped  on  the  ground  a  black  and  helpless 
heap  of  fear. 

"  Can  a  king  be  such  a  cur?  Burgundy  won't  hurt 
you  if  you  do  as  he  bids  you.  I  won't  hurt  you  if 
you  do  as  I  bid  you." 

The  black  figure  rocked,  a  pitiable  bundle  of  ter- 
rors, apparently  sobbing  plaintively.  Thibaut  sick- 
ened at  such  shameless  fear. 

"  Stop  crying,"  he  growled. 

Rend  de  Montigny,  who  had  been  watching  keenly 
the  actions  of  the  prisoner,  interrupted: 

"  He  seems  to  be  laughing,"  he  said. 

Thibaut  gave  a  cry  of  astonishment  and  stooped 
down  over  the  prostrate  man,  who  greeted  him  with 
a  prolonged  and  hearty  peal  of  laughter,  which  stag- 
gered the  giant  like  a  blow  in  the  face.  At  that 
moment  the  tower  door  was  flung  open  and  Tristan 
appeared. 

"  The  king! "  he  cried  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

In  another  moment,  as  if  by  magic,  the  little  gar- 
den space  was  girdled  by  the  archers  of  the  Scottish 
Guard,  strong  hands  made  sure  of  the  baffled  con- 
spirators, and  to  their  astonishment  Louis  himself 
made  his  appearance  through  the  open  doorway,  his 
malign  face  smiling  in  the  moonlight. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  DEATH  OF  A  WANTON 

THE  sham  king  leaped  to  his  feet,  still  laughing, 
flung  off  the  black  cap  with  its  little  row  of  leaden 
saints  and  the  rusty  black  mantle  which  mimicked 
the  king's  habit,  and  stood  delighted  and  defiant 
before  Thibaut,  the  Frangois  Villon  who  thus  a 
second  time  had  crossed  his  path. 

"Well,  friend,  what  has  the  wizard  told  you?" 
Louis  asked  blandly. 

Villon  swayed  with  laughter  as  he  pointed  to  the 
bewildered  giant. 

"Wonders,  sire,"  he  answered.  "I  have  not 
laughed  so  heartily  since  I  attained  greatness."  But 
even  as  he  spoke  Thibaut  had  recovered  his  wits.  He 
might  be  defeated  but  he  would  not  be  unavenged. 

"  You  shall  laugh  no  more! "  he  shouted,  wrench- 
ing himself  free  from  restraint,  and  he  sprang  at  his 
enemy  with  lifted  dagger. 

From  behind  the  shadow  of  the  statue  of  Pan 
there  came  a  warning  shriek,  and  swiftly  between 
Villon  and  Thibaut  a  slim  green  figure  darted  and 
slim  green  arms  clasped  Villon  around  the  neck. 
The  dagger  of  Thibaut  drove  deep  into  the  soft  body 
of  Huguette. 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

With  a  curse  Thibaut  turned  and,  sweeping  aside 
the  archers  who  tried  to  stop  him,  disappeared  down 
the  nearest  alley.  Noel  le  Jolys,  drawing  his  sword, 
rushed  in  pursuit,  followed  by  several  soldiers.  Vil- 
lon held  the  bleeding  body  of  the  girl  in  his  arms, 
and  tried  his  best  to  stanch  the  wound  which  was 
staining  the  green  jerkin  a  dull  red,  but  the  girl  pro- 
tested faintly,  pushing  his  ministering  hand  away. 

"Let  me  alone;  I  am  done  for,"  she  gasped, 

Olivier  was  by  her  side  in  an  instant,  eyeing  the 
wound  with  the  professional  interest  of  the  surgeon- 
barber  and  looking  from  it  to  the  girl's  pale  face. 
Villon's  gaze  questioned  him.  Olivier  shrugged  his 
shoulders  and  shook  his  head.  Villon  knew  that  the 
wound  was  mortal,  and  his  own  blood  seemed  like 
water  within  him.  He  carried  the  girl  across  the 
grass  to  the  marble  seat  and  rested  her  on  it,  the 
red  stain  on  the  green  coat  growing  wider  and  wider 
as  they  moved. 

"Courage,  Abbess,  courage,  lass,"  he  whispered, 
fighting  with  his  horror  and  his  sorrow  as  he  moaned 
to  himself:  "  That  any  one  should  die  for  me! " 

The  girl's  arms  clung  closer  about  his  neck  and 
her  lips  moved  faintly.  He  stooped  close  to  her  to 
catch  her  words. 

"This  is  a  strange   end,   Francois,     I   always 

210 


THE  DEATH  OF  A  WA1STON 

thought  I  should  die  in  a  bed.  Here  is  another  kind 
6f  battlefield.  Give  me  drink." 

*  Some  water,"  Villon  cried  to  Olivier,  who  stood 
a  little  apart  from  the  pair  with  the  resigned  look  of 
the  physician  who  knows  that  his  art  is  of  no  avail. 

Huguette  protested  faintly. 

"  Not  water.  Wine.  I  have  ever  loved  the  taste 
af  it,  and  'tis  too  late  to  change  now." 

Olivier  filled  a  cup  from  the  flagon  on  the  table 
*cd  was  for  lifting  it  to  the  girl's  lips,  but  her  feeble 
band  repulsed  him  and  she  pleaded  to  Villon: 

"  Give  it  to  me,  Francois." 

Villon  took  the  cup  from  the  barber's  hand,  lifted 
tt  to  the  dying  girl's  lips,  and  she  drank  greedily. 
The  strong  wine  gave  her  for  a  moment  something 
of  its  own  false  strength,  and  she  struggled  to  her 
feet,  Villon  rising  with  her  and  supporting  her. 

"Your  health,  Francois.  I  suppose  I  have  been 
a  great  sinner.  Will  God  forgive  me?  " 

Villon  stifled  a  heavy  groan,  but  he  was  sworn  to 
console  her  if  he  could,  and,  indeed,  he  believed  his 
words  of  consolation. 

"  He  understands  his  children." 

The  heavy  head  drooped  its  golden  curls  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"You  always  were  hopeful,"  she  said  brokenly. 

211 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Then  suddenly  clasping  him  tightly,  she  cried: 
"  Many  men  have  taken  my  body;  only  you  ever  took 
my  heart.  Give  me  your  lips." 

Villon's  spirit  was  troubled.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  his  lips  were  bound  to  wait  for  that  kiss  of  his 
lady's,  and  yet  the  dying  girl  loved  him  and  he  had 
loved  the  dying  girl  after  a  fashion,  and  he  could  not 
refuse  her  now.  He  bent  to  grant  her  prayer,  when 
suddenly  she  shook  herself  free  from  his  arms  and 
began  to  sing  faintly  the  words  of  the  song  he  had 
made  for  her: 

"  Daughters  of  Pleasure,  one  and  all, 

Then  she  caught  her  breath  with  a  sob  and  slipped 
to  the  last  lines  of  the  verse: 

"  Use  your  red  lips  before  too  late, 
Love  ere  love  flies  beyond  recall." 

She  shook  her  head  back  in  a  wild  peal  of  laughter: 
then  she  gave  a  great  cry  and  fell  forward.  Villon 
caught  her,  looked  in  her  face  and  knew  that  she  was 
dead,  and  that  the  best  of  his  old  bad  life  lay  dead 
with  her. 

Olivier  in  obedience  to  an  order  of  the  king's, 
gave  a  signal  and  the  girl's  body  was  swiftly 
wrapped  in  a  soldier's  cloak  and  laid  gently  upon  a 
pair  of  crossed  halberds.  As  this  was  being  done, 

212 


THE  DEATH  OF  A  WANTON 

Noel  le  Joljs  came  panting  back  with  a  red  sword 
in  his  hand. 

"  Thibaut  d'Aussigny  is  dead,  sire,"  he  said;  "  my 
hand  was  the  hand  that  finished  him." 

Then  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the  dead  body,  they  shone 
with  sudden  tears.  Villon  went  up  to  him  and 
touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  I  leave  this  dead  woman  in  your  hands,"  he  said, 
"  for  I  think  you  had  a  kindness  for  her.  See  that 
she  has  Christian  burial." 

Noel  bowed  his  head  and  followed  in  silence  the 
girl's  body.  The  garden  was  left  to  Louis  and  Villon, 
Tristan  and  Olivier,  and  the  handful  of  captured 
rogues  who  stood  apart,  strongly  guarded  and 
stripped  of  their  pilgrims'  garb,  gazing  amazed  at 
Louis  and  his  double.  Villon,  silent  too,  looked  after 
the  little  group  that  bore  away  the  dead  girl's  body. 
His  mind  was  a  warfare  of  wild  memories. 
Strange  recollections  of  times  and  places  with  Hu- 
guette  came  crowding  up  and  beating  piteously  upon 
his  brain.  He  thought  of  what  he  had  been,  and 
groaned;  of  what  he  was  now,  and  his  soul  cried  out 
as  in  prayer  in  the  name  of  Katherine. 


213 


CHAPTER  XH 
A  VIRGIN'S  TEARS 

'F Hfi  king's  hand  fell  upon  his  shoulder  and  shat- 
tered his  meditations. 

u  Are  you  so  dashed  by  the  death  of  a  wanton?  " 
the  king  asked  mockingly. 

.Villon  turned  upon  him  in  a  noble  rage. 

"  She  had  God's  breath  in  her  body,  sire,"  he  said. 
Then  drawing  his  hand  across  his  forehead  as  if  to 
dissipate  the  sad  fancies  that  oppressed  him,  he 
.went  on: 

"I  have  been  John-a-Nods  for  the  moment,  sire; 
now  I  am  Jack-a-Deeds  again.  The  hour  for  battle 
is  at  hand." 

Louis  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

*  You  have  done  me  a  good  turn,  gossip,"  he  said, 
/'and  may  ask  any  grace  of  me  except  your  life. 
That  depends  on  your  lady." 

Villon  looked  over  at  the, corner  where  his  old 
boon  companions  were  huddled  together,  the  miser- 
able centre  of  a  circle  of  soldiers. 

"  Sire,"  he  said;  "  grant  me  the  lives  of  those  ras- 
cals. They  shall  ride  with  me  and  fight  for  France 
to-night.  It  is  better  than  making  them  play  bob- 
apple  on  the  evil  tree." 

214 


A  VIRGIN'S  TEARS 

The  king  whispered  a  few  words  to  Tristan,  and 
Tristan  very  reluctantly  gave  the  order  of  libera- 
tion. The  comrades  of  the  Cockleshell  were  freed  of 
their  bonds  and  bade  to  stand  apart,  under  guard 
and  out  of  earshot,  to  wait  on  destiny  for  future 
commands.  At  this  moment  Louis,  glancing  up- 
wards, caught  sight  between  the  flower  vases  on  the 
terrace  of  a  gleam  of  crimson,  the  crimson  silk  of  a 
woman's  robe.  It  betrayed  the  presence  of  Kath- 
etine  de  Vaucelles,  who  had  come  hard  upon  the 
hour  of  nine  to  seek  for  her  lover,  but  who  paused 
irresolute  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  noting  the  pres- 
ence of  the  king.  Louis  beckoned  to  her  amicably, 
and  she  began  slowly  to  descend  the  staircase.  Louis 
came  over  to  Villon  and  whispered  in  his  ear: 

"  Here  comes  your  lady.  I  think  your  love-fruit 
is  ripe  and  you  need  not  stand  on  tip-toe  to  pick  it" 

Villon  answered  him  with  burning  eyes: 

"  Sire,  I  believe  I  have  won  the  rose  of  the  world." 

Louis  chuckled  like  an  enraptured  raven. 

"  The  Count  of  Montcorbier  is  luckier  than  Fran- 
£ois  Villon.  But  the  lady  has  a  high  mind  and  a 
fierce  spirit.  She  may  not  relish  the  deception,  par- 
don the  cheat  his  lie!" 

Something  in  the  king's  words  struck  upon  Vil- 
lon's fiery  hopes  like  a  stream  of  ice-cold  water  and 

215 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

seemed  to  quench  them.  He  was  like  a  man  who, 
long  playing  at  blind-man's-buff,  suddenly  has  the 
bandage  plucked  from  his  eyes  and  stands  dazzled 
and  blinking  in  the  sunlight.  After  all,  he  was  not 
the  Count  of  Montcorbier;  after  all,  he  was  not  the 
Grand  Constable  of  France;  after  all,  he  was  only 
a  masquerading  beggar  who  had  won  the  heart  of  a 
lady  under  false  colours;  who  had  triumphed  by  fly- 
ing a  false  flag.  In  all  those  seven  splendid  days 
this  simple  thought  had  never  come  to  him.  His 
whole  soul  had  been  so  taken  captive  by  the  fascina- 
tion of  the  part  he  had  been  permitted  to  play  that 
he  forgot  he  was  playing  a  part,  and  allowed  his 
fancy  to  believe  that  a  week-long  dream  would  en- 
dure forever.  Now  he  knew  himself  and  what  he 
had  done  and  what  he  must  do.  A  divine  farce  had 
turned  to  sudden  tragedy.  He  turned  to  the  king 
with  a  groan. 

"  Cheat,  lie,"  he  repeated.  "  Sire,  those  words  fling 
me  from  my  fooFs  paradise.  Kill  me  if  I  fail  to  win 
her,  but  I  will  tear  this  mask  from  my  face,  this 
falsehood  from  my  heart." 

Louis  grinned  at  him. 

"  Please  yourself.  Win  her  or  swing.  Either  way 
contents  me." 

Ag  he  spoke,  he  turned  away.    Katherine  had 

216 


A  VIRGIN'S  TEARS 

descended  the  steps  and  was  moving  across  the  grass 
to  greet  her  hero,  who  stood  with  clasped  hands  in 
the  moonlight  like  a  man  struck  dumb.  Katherine 
was  carrying  in  her  hands  a  crimson  scarf  fringed 
with  gold,  and  she  lifted  it  to  him  as  she  spoke. 

"  Wear  this  with  my  prayers.  With  it,  I  give  you 
my  hand  and  heart.  You  shall  carry  my  plighted 
troth  with  you  into  the  battle.  Let  me  tell  my  love 
to  all  the  world." 

Swiftly  and  lightly  she  threw  it  about  his  neck 
before  he  could  find  words,  but  now  he  spoke: 

"Wait,  wait!  You  must  say  no  more  until  you 
know  me." 

The  girl's  eyes  widened  with  surprise. 

"  Do  I  not  know  you?  " 

Villon  thrust  his  face  forward  very  close  to  hers. 

"  Look  into  my  face,"  he  said.  "  Look  well.  Do 
you  see  nothing  there  that  reminds  you  of  other 
hours?  " 

Katherine  smiled  divinely. 

"  Of  happy  hours  in  this  rose  garden." 

Villon  insisted  fiercely: 

"No,  no!  Of  a  dark  night,  a  tavern,  a  cloaked 
woman,  a  sordid  fellow  dreaming  sottishly  by  the 
fire,  a  prayer,  a  love-tale  and  a  promise,  a  crowd  of 
bullies  and  wantons,  a  quarrel,  a  fight  with  sword 

217 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

and  lantern  in  the  dark,  a  breast  knot  of  ribbon 
flung  from  a  gallery " 

Katherine  recoiled  a  little,  with  a  horror  in  her 
eyes. 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  tell  me?  "  she  asked. 

Villon  dropped  on  his  knees  with  a  groan. 

"  Here  is  the  knot  of  ribbon  which  you  flung  to 
me  in  the  Fircone  Tavern.  Oh,  pity  me!  I  am  Fran- 
cois Villon." 

Katherine  pressed  her  hands  to  her  forehead. 

"  I  can  hear  what  you  say,  but  it  makes  no  mark 
on  my  brain." 

Villon's  words  ran  fast  from  him: 

"  I  am  Francois  Villon  and  yet  no  longer  he,  for 
my  old  evil  self  is  dead.  I  am  Francois  Villon  who 
served  you  with  his  sword,  who  praised  you  with  his 
pen,  and  who  loves  you  with  all  his  soul." 

The  girl's  whole  body  shook  with  fear  as  she 
answered : 

"  It  isn't  true!    It  isn't  true!    I  don't  believe  you." 

Villon  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Whatever  my  fate  is,"  he  cried,  "  you  shall  know 
the  truth." 

Turning  to  where  the  released  conspirators  stood 
apart,  he  called  to  them  peremptorily: 

"  Guy!    Kens'!    All  of  you,  come  here! " 

218 


A  VIRGIN'S  TEARS 

Amazed  to  be  thus  summoned  in  their  own  names 
by  so  great  a  personage  as  the  Grand  Constable  of 
France,  the  thieves  crept  forward  timidly  and,  in 
obedience  to  Villon's  commanding  gestures,  gath- 
ered about  him  as  he  turned  to  them,  pressing  his 
face  near  to  their  faces,  and  cried: 

"Look  at  me  closer — closer.  Don't  you  know 
Pran§ois  Villon  in  spite  of  this  new  spirit  shining 
in  his  eyes?  " 

Rene'  de  Montigny  gave  a  cry  of  recognition. 

"I  should  never  have  known  you.  You  are  so 
strangely  changed." 

Guy  Tabarie  endorsed  him. 

"  Still,  'tis  his  dear  old  countenance." 

Katherine  watching  the  scene  in  sick  despair, 
turned  piteously  to  the  king. 

"  Sire,  sire,  is  this  true?  " 

Louis,  who  had  been  watching  all  with  unmiti- 
gated satisfaction,  answered  fleeringly: 

"Most  true,  pretty  mistress.  You  disdained  me 
for  this." 

With  blazing  eyes  and  trembling  hands  Katherine 
moved  across  the  grass  to  where  Villon  stood. 

"  Pitiful  traitor,  why  did  you  live  this  lie?  " 

Villon  pleaded  desperately: 

"  I  loved  you." 

219 


IF   I  WERE   KING 

Katherine's  anger  flamed  into  a  great  fire. 
"Do  not  shame  the  sweet  word.   I  hate  you!  To 
think  the  face  that  I  have  learned  to  love  should 
mask  so  base  a  heart!  " 

Then  as  Villon  drew  a  little  closer  to  her,  in  an 
agony  of  entreaty,  she  struck  out  at  him  vrith  both 
hands,  beating  him  on  the  breast  in  an  unconquer- 
able fury.  Villon  bowed  beneath  the  blow  while 
she  raged  at  him: 

"  You  have  stolen  my  love  like  a  thief,  you  have 
crucified  my  pride.  I  hate  you!  Go  back  to  the 
dregs  and  lees  of  life,  skulk  in  your  tavern,  forget, 
what  I  shall  never  forget,  that  so  base  a  thing  as 
you  ever  came  near  me!  " 

The  king  was  by  her  side  in  an  instant  and  whis- 
pering into  her  ear: 

"  Is  this  the  course  of  true  love?  " 
She  swung  upon  him  in  scorn. 
"  Sire,  you  have  wreaked  a  royal  revenge  upon  a 
woman.    There  are  no  tears  in  my  eyes  yet,  but  I 
pray  they  will  come  that  I  may  weep  myself  clean 
of  this  memory." 

With  clasped  hands  and  set  lips  she  moved  away 
from  Louis  and  stood  apart  in  the  moonlight,  a  fixed 
and  rigid  figure  of  despair.  Louis  stepped  to  where 
Villon  stood  in  stricken  anguish  and  whispered  to 
him: 


220 


"If  I  were  to  die  to-morrow,  I  should  tell  you  this  to-night.     I  low 
you." 


A  VIRGIN'S  TEARS 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  hang  to-morrow,  Master 
Villon." 

Villon  threw  back  his  head  defiantly. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  greet  the  gallows  now,  but 
I  have  a  deed  to  do  before  I  die." 

As  he  spoke  the  great  bell  of  the  palace  beat  out 
the  first  stroke  of  the  hour  of  nine.  It  roused  the 
wounded  spirit  in  his  soul.  He  moved  to  where 
Katherine  stood  and  spoke  to  her: 

"  I  dreamed  that  love  through  which  I  have  been 
born  again  could  lift  me  to  your  lips.  The  dream 
is  over.  But  you  bade  me  serve  France,  and  I  ride 
and  fight  for  you  to-night." 

While  he  spoke  the  Lords  of  Lau,  of  Riviere  and 
of  Nantoillet  in  panoply  of  war  came  from  the 
palace  with  their  immediate  followers.  The  garden 
began  to  fill  with  the  picked  men  of  the  enterprise 
hurrying  on  the  summons  of  the  warning  bell  to  fol- 
low their  leader  on  his  sortie.  Villon's  pages 
brought  the  armour  of  the  Grand  Constable  and 
began  to  buckle  it  upon  him.  While  this  was  being 
itfone,  he  turned  and  spoke  to  his  brothers-in-arms: 

"  Comrades,  let  each  man  carry  himself  to-night 
as  if  the  fate  of  France  depended  upon  his  heart, 
his  arm,  his  courage.  Strike  for  the  mothers  that 
bore  you,  the  wives  that  comfort  you,  the  children 

221 


IF  I  WERE  RING 

that  renew  you — the  women  that  love  you."    For  a 
moment  his  voice  quailed  and  almost  failed  him. 
There   were   happy   men   there,   no   donbt,    whom 
women  loved.    But  he  rallied  in  a  breath  and  his 
voice  rang  out  valiantly  again:     "Forward  in  God's 
name  and  the  king's! " 
And  every  soldier  present  echoed  him: 
"Forward  in  God's  name  and  the  king's!" 


222 


CHAPTER  XIH 
THE  REDE  OF  FIVE  RIDING  ROGUES 

THROUGH  the  silent  streets  of  Paris  a  slender 
line  of  steel  moved  slowly — the  thread  of  which  Mas- 
ter Francois  Villon  was  the  needle  pricked  to  sew 
the  realm  of  France  together.  The  Grand  Constable 
rode  at  the  head  with  the  Lords  of  Lau,  of  Riviere, 
and  of  Nantoillet,  and  somewhere  at  the  tail  rode 
the  five  released  rascals  and  babbled  beneath  their 
breaths  as  they  rode.  For  the  order  to  keep  silence 
'did  not  count  until  the  gates  of  Paris  were  reached 
and  began  to  turn  on  their  hinges  to  let  Villon's  ad- 
venturers forth.  Every  man  of  the  ruffians  had  a 
stout  sword  swinging  at  his  girdle;  every  man  of 
them  sported  a  steel  cap  upon  his  head;  every  man 
of  them  felt  his  heart  pulsing  with  rare  emotions 
and  his  brain  busy  with  strange  thoughts.  Rene"  de 
Montigny  spoke  first  the  thing  that  filled  his  mind. 

"  It  must  be  a  devil  of  a  business,"  he  reflected, 
"  to  be  bullied  like  that  by  a  beauty.  Blood,  but  she 
is  beautiful,  and  blood,  but  she  can  bellow." 

Guy  Tabarie  chuckled  fatly.  "  I  have  been  bul- 
lied so  many  times  by  grey-faced  drabs  that  I  would 
take  my  trouncing  patiently  from  such  a  pair  of 

223 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

lips.  It  was  meat  and  drink  to  look  at  her  and  think 
thoughts." 

Jehan  le  Loup  frowned  sourly.  "  Had  I  been  Mas- 
ter Francois  and  black  Louis  not  been  by  I  should 
have  tried  to  mend  my  luck  with  a  cudgel.  At  best 
and  worst  she  would  have  had  something  to  curse 
for  after  a  lusty  thumping." 

Casin  Cholet  licked  his  lips.  « I  shall  think  of 
her,"  he  said,  "  when  next  I  meet  with  a  sweetheart. 
With  a  little  wit  your  honest  rascal  can  be  as  happy 
as  a  king.  In  the  dark  all  fur  is  of  the  same  colour." 

Colin  de  Cayeulx  yawned.  "  What  are  we  going 
a-riding  for?  "  he  questioned.  "  I  would  sooner  have 
stayed  in  the  king's  rose  garden  and  filled  my  belly 
as  we  did  last  week  when  the  great  lord  in  gold 
tissue  pitied  us.  And  to  think  that  it  was  no  more 
than  Francois  after  all!  I  could  jam  my  dagger 
between  his  shoulder-blades  for  making  such  a  ninny 
of  me." 

"  I  knew  him  all  the  time,"  Guy  Tabarie  was  be- 
ginning when  Kene'  de  Montigny  silenced  him  with 
a  ringing  clip  on  the  nearest  ear  which  nearly  un- 
saddled the  fat  rogue.  "  You  lie,  Mountain,  you  lie," 
he  whispered.  "  Do  you  think  that  if  he  cheated  me 
your  pig's  eyes  could  read  the  riddle?  No,  no,  he 
fooled  us  fairly  and  he  fooled  us  well,  but  he  treated 
us  kindly  and  we  can  afford  to  cry  quits." 

224 


THE  REDE  OF  FIVE  HIDING  ROGUES 

"  A  strange  thing,"  mused  Colin,  "  that  a  trifle  of 
hair  less  on  a  man's  chin  and  a  trifle  of  dirt  less  on 
a  man's  cheek,  with  some  matter  of  clean  linen  and 
a  smooth  jerkin,  can  make  such  a  difference." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Ren^  de  Montigny,  "  we  are  all 
the  same  at  the  core,  every  man-jack  and  woman-jill 
of  us,  hungering,  thirsting,  lusting,  just  after  the 
same  fashion.  'Tis  only  the  coat  that  counts." 

"  'Tis  you  who  lie  now,"  grunted  Tabarie.  "  There's 
no  gold  tissue  in  the  world  that  would  make  you  as 
cunning  as  Frangois.  You  would  never  have  done 
as  he  did  if  the  king  had  made  you  the  pick  of  the 
litter." 

Ren£  whistled  through  his  teeth.  "May  be  so, 
may  be  not,"  he  said.  "  No  man  can  tell  what  he 
may  do  till  he  is  given  his  chance  to  test  his  mettle. 
Oh  opportunity,  golden  opportunity!  If  I  were 
Francois  Villon  I  would  shape  an  image  of  gold  in 
your  name  and  praise  you  for  a  saint." 

"  I  wonder  what  that  girl  will  say,"  mused  Taba- 
rie, "  if  our  Francois  comes  back  with  the  Duke  of 
-  Burgundy  in  his  pocket! " 

"  I  wonder  what  she  will  say,"  sneered  Jehan  le 
Loup,  "if  he  trundles  back  feet  foremost  with  a  hole 
in  his  body  and  half  a  head." 

"Whatever  happens  is  sure  to  vex  her,"  said 
Casin  Cholet.  "  Women  are  made  that  way." 

225 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"  Our  poor  minions  will  be  lonely  to-night,"  said 
Colin. 

"I  doubt  it,"  said  Kens'  de  Montigny  drily,  and 
then  he  sighed  a  little.  "  Poor  Abbess!  " 

Sudden  tears  smeared  Tabarie's  fat  cheeks. 

"  She  was  a  brave  wench  if  ever,"  he  snivelled. 
"  Through  wellfare  or  illfare  she  was  always  the 
same,  and  would  share  board  and  blanket  with  a 
friend  though  his  pouch  were  as  barren  as  Sarah's 
body." 

"  It  was  ten  thousand  pities,"  said  Rene',  "  that  she 
fell  so  love-sick  for  Francois.  Did  he  give  her  some 
philtre,  some  elixir,  do  you  think?  Frangois  is  a 
fine  fellow  though,  I'll  not  deny  it,  but  he's  had  the 
'devil's  own  luck,  and  by  our  patron  St.  Nicholas 
there  be  others  as  fine  as  he." 

As  he  spoke  the  great  gate  of  the  city  yawned 
noiselessly,  and  stealthy  and  silent  the  hope  of  Paris 
glided  into  the  darkness  and  was  swallowed  up  by 
the  night 


226 


CHAPTER   XIV 
THE  BANNERS  OF  BURGUNDY 

THE  yellow  dawn,  rippling  over  Paris,  found  her 
streets  strangely  silent,  strangely  quiet.  A  few 
good  citizens  were  abed,  but  most  good  citizens  were 
abroad  on  that  kindly  June  morning,  for  there  was 
business  doing  outside  the  walls  of  Paris  which 
tempted  every  man  inside  the  walls  to  those  walls, 
and  that  business  was  the  battle  that  was  raging, 
and  had  raged  since  nightfall,  between  the  troops  of 
King  Louis  on  one  side  under  the  Grand  Constable 
of  France,  and  the  troops  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy 
and  his  allies  on  the  other.  Paris  might  have  been 
that  strange  city  of  slumber  told  of  by  the  wanderer 
in  the  Arabian  tale,  or  that  poppied  palace  where 
the  sleeping  beauty  and  her  court  lay  waiting  the 
coming  of  the  hero.  If  Asmodeus  whisking  his 
way  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  with  any  astonished 
travelling  companion  in  tow  had  paused  over  Paris 
and  unroofed  it  for  the  benefit  of  his  fellow-voyager, 
most  of  the  rooms  would  have  been  found  as  empty 
as  the  streets. 

But  there  was  one  spot  in  the  city — an  open  place 
by   the  river,   between   an   ancient   gate  and   the 

227 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

church  of  the  Celestins — which  was  alive  and  busy 
with  a  strange  activity  of  its  own.  It  was  empty 
enough  and  the  windows  of  its  houses  stared  vacant- 
ly upon  its  emptiness,  but  there  were  two  men  in 
possession  of  its  tranquillity  who  had  been  toiling 
hard  at  a  singular  piece  of  work.  They  were  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  the  erection  of  a  tall,  gaunt 
gallows  with  its  steps  and  platform,  which  occupied 
a  space  midway  between  the  gateway  and  the  grey 
old  Gothic  church.  In  curious  contrast  to  the  sin- 
ister grimness  of  the  gibbet,  there  rose  opposite  to  it 
on  the  side  of  the  church  a  dais,  richly  draped  with 
royal  velvet,  splendidly  spangled  with  fleur-de-lis 
and  brave  with  armourial  bearings. 

The  two  men  who  were  working  at  the  gallows 
having  finished  their  job,  came  out  into  the  open 
space  and  stretched  themselves.  One  was  a  tall, 
thin,  grave,  poplar-tree  of  a  man,  clad  in  sad-col- 
oured clothes  and  conspicuous  for  a  long  rosary  of* 
enormous  beads  which  he  carried  around  his  neck 
and  which  from  time  to  time  he  handled  with  osten- 
tatious sanctimony.  The  other  was  as  complete  a 
contrast  to  his  companion  as  could  be  desired  by  the 
humorous  painter.  He  was  a  plump,  spry  little  fel- 
low, brightly  dressed  and  bubbling  over  with  merry, 
roguish  spirits,  which  formed  the  most  fantastic  foil 

228 


THE  BANNERS  OF  BURGUNDY 

to  the  lugubriousness  of  his  fellow-worker.  Any 
good  citizen  of  Paris,  arising  belated,  if  any  such 
there  may  have  been,  and  hurrying  to  the  walls  to 
know  how  things  went  for  the  king's  cause,  would 
have  recognized  readily  enough  in  these  two  strange 
opposites  two  of  the  most  dreaded  of  the  myrmidons 
of  Tristan  PHermite,  no  less  than  his  two  chief  hang- 
men, Trois-Echelles  and  Petit-Jean.  Trois-Echelles 
was  the  long,  cadaverous  hangman;  Petit- Jean  was 
the  stout,  droll  hangman,  but  when  it  came  to  a  push 
and  a  pinch,  both  were  hangmen  and  hung  in  the 
same  manner,  if  not  with  the  same  manners.  Petit- 
Jean  pulled  a  flagon  of  wine  from  under  the  platform 
of  the  gallows,  lifted  it  to  his  lips,  drained  a  mighty 
draught,  sighed  with  satisfaction,  and  held  out  the 
bottle  to  his  brother  craftsman. 

"  Drink  and  be  merry." 

Trois-Echelles,  making  gestures  of  protestation 
with  his  head  but  taking  the  bottle  with  his  hand 
none  the  less,  drew  a  deep  draught  from  its  throttle 
and  sighed  as  sadly  as  his  friend  sighed  gladly. 

"  I  will  drink  but  I  cannot  be  merry.  What's  the 
good  of  building  a  noble  gallows  if  nobody  looks  at 
it?  One  might  as  well  be  building  a  church." 

Petit-Jean  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"All  Paris  is  on  the  walls  watching  the  battle. 
Lucky  Paris!" 

229 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

Trois-Echelles  laughed  ill-humoredly. 

"  Not  so  lucky  if  we  don't  win  the  battle." 

Petit-Jean  was  complacent. 

"  Whichever  wins  will  need  us  to  hang  the  losers. 
Look  at  the  bright  side,  man." 

Trois-Echelles  fumbled  his  beads  furtively. 

"  I've  lost  heart,  I  tell  you.  I  haven't  hanged  a 
man  for  a  week." 

As  he  mourned  over  this  melancholy  retrospect, 
the  door  of  a  little  house  hard  by  the  church  opened 
and  an  old  woman,  propping  herself  on  a  crutch 
stick,  came  hobbling  slowly  across  the  open  space 
towards  the  church.  Petit-Jean  knew  her  well 
enough,  for  they  both  lodged  in  the  same  house  and 
both  on  the  same  floor  of  attics.  He  knew  she  was 
the  mother  of  the  greatest  scapegrace  in  all  Paris, 
a  rascal  named  Francois  Villon,  who  had  disap- 
peared, Heaven  alone  knew  where,  to  the  old  lady's 
great  despair.  He  saluted  her  good  humoredly. 

"  Good  morrow  to  your  nightcap,  mother.  Have 
you  found  your  lost  sheep?  " 

Mother  Villon  shook  her  head  wistfully. 

"They  say  he  is  banished,  but  he  has  sent  me 
money,  bless  him!  though  I  touch  none  of  it,  lest 
it  be  badly  come  by." 

Trois-Echelles  stopped  fumbling  his  beads  and 
advanced  towards  her,  extending  his  hand. 


THE  BANNERS  OF  BURGUNDY 

"  Give  it  to  me  to  spend  on  masses?  "  he  asked 
sanctimoniously. 

Petit-Jean  danced  between  them. 

"  Lend  it  to  me  for  drink  money,"  he  urged. 

The  old  woman  paid  no  heed  to  their  proposals. 
Her  tired  eyes  had  caught  sight  of  the  grim  struc- 
ture in  wood  which  usurped  a  place  in  a  familiar 
scene.  She  shaded  her  eyes  and  peered  at  it,  asking: 

"  For  whom  do  you  build  this  gallows?  " 

The  glum  hangman  answered  gloomily: 

"  Oddly  enough,  we  don't  know.  '  Make  me  a  gal- 
lows here/  says  the  Constable,  *  in  the  open  place, 
and  sieges  for  the  king  and  his  courtiers.' " 

Mother  Villon,  her  simple  curiosity  easily  satis- 
fied, dropped  her  informant  a  curtsey  and  hobbled 
slowly  up  the  steps  into  the  church. 

Petit- Jean  stretched  himself  again  and  yawned. 

"  I'll  to  sleep  and  dream  of  hanging  a  king." 

Trois-Echelles  put  a  lean  finger  to  his  lean  chin, 

"Treason,  friend,  if  Tristan  heard  you." 

Petit-Jean's  eyes  twinkled. 

"Well,  let's  say  an  archbishop,"  he  said. 

Trois-Echelles  nodded  approvingly. 

"  An  archbishop  ought  to  make  a  good  end." 

His  mind  pleased  itself  with  the  picture  of  so 
high  a  dignitary  of  the  church  in  his  full  canonicals 

231 


IF   I  WERE   KING 

coming  under  his  tender  care  and  being  exhorted 
by  his  pious  counsels. 

The  two  hangmen  climbed  on  the  platform  of  the 
grisly  erection,  and,  calmly  indifferent  to  the  nature 
of  their  bed,  were  in  a  few  moments  fast  asleep 
and  snoring  as  merrily  as  if  every  man  in  the  world 
had  been  hung  and  there  was  nothing  else  for  them 
to  do  but  to  take  it  easy  for  the  rest  of  their  days. 

The  hard  weariness  of  work  and  the  easy  weari- 
ness of  wine  had  made  them  so  heavy-headed  that 
their  slumbers  were  not  disturbed  by  the  sound  of 
footfalls,  though  the  footfalls  echoed  strangely  loud 
in  the  lonely  deserted  place — the  footfalls  of  a  wo- 
man, swift  and  impatient,  the  footfalls  of  a  man 
swiftly  pursuing.  In  another  moment  the  woman 
and  the  man  came  into  the  open  space,  now  bright 
and  shining  with  the  risen  sun.  The  woman  was 
Katherine  de  Vaucelles;  the  man  was  Noel  le  Jolys. 

As  Katherine  entered  the  silent  square,  she  paused 
for  a  moment  a  few  paces  from  the  church,  and  turn- 
ing, looked  at  her  silent  follower. 

"  Why  do  you  follow  me?  "  she  asked,  and  Noel 
le  Jolys,  who  had  dogged  her  footsteps  from  the 
palace,  answered  her  briskly: 

"You  should  not  walk  unguarded.  Therefore  I 
shadow  you." 


232 


THE  BANNERS  OF  BURGUNDY 

Katherine  scorned  him. 

"  You  may  well  play  the  shadow,  for  you  cast  no 
shadow  of  your  own.  The  streets  are  very  idle — 
the  streets  are  very  quiet.  I  would  sooner  have 
my  loneliness  than  your  company.  Let  me  pass  to 
my  prayers."  For  Noel  had  glided  between  her  and 
the  church,  and  stood  barring  her  passage  defer- 
entially. 

"  For  your  lover? "  he  asked,  and  Katherine 
flashed  at  him: 

"  You  have  a  small  mind  to  ask,  yet  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  answer.  My  prayers  are  for  a  brave  gen- 
tleman whom  I  shall  never  see  again." 

As  she  spoke,  the  cup  of  her  heart  seemed  to  run 
over  with  red  tears,  and  the  bitter  waters  trembled 
in  her  eyes.  Her  thoughts  wandered  over  the  long 
white  night  and  her  sleepless  sorrow,  and  her  vigil 
by  the  window,  looking  out  into  the  rose  garden,  and 
her  tired  eyes  straining  in  vain  through  the  dark 
for  any  sight,  and  her  tired  ears  straining  in  vain  for 
any  sound  of  the  battle  in  which  the  lord  of  her 
heart  was  risking  his  life.  For  she  knew  it  now; 
she  had  learned  it  through  those  age-long  hours  of 
agony,  that  he  whom  she  called  her  enemy  was  the 
lord  of  her  heart,  that  in  spite  of  all  her  rage  at 
th<>  cheat  that  had  been  put  upon  her,  she  loved, 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

not  the  great  noble  who  had  done  so  much  to 
save  France — no,  nor  the  ragged  poet  who  had 
lent  her  his  sword-arm  and  his  sword,  but  just  the 
man,  by  whatever  name  he  might  be  called  and  in 
whatever  way  of  life  his  wheel  of  fortune  might 
spin,  whose  hand  had  proved  to  be  of  the  right  size 
to  hold  her  heart  in  its  hollow.  The  Katherine 
of  yesterday  seemed  to  be  dead  and  buried,  to  have 
died  a  fiery  death  of  fierce  thoughts,  fierce  agonies, 
fierce  exultations,  and  from  that  travail  a  new  Kath- 
erine had  come  into  being  with  cleansed  eyes  to  see 
the  world  truly  and  with  a  cleansed  soul  to  know  a 
great  soul's  truth. 

Noel  watched  her  silence  but  it  meant  nothing  to 
him,  and  he  tripped  into  her  high  thoughts  cheer- 
fully. 

"  I  am  a  brave  gentleman,"  he  said,  patting  him- 
self approvingly  upon  the  breast.  "  I  slew  Thibaut 
d'Aussigny  last  night.  The  king  has  taken  me  back 
into  favour.  If  I  played  the  fool's  part  yesterday, 
I  can  play  the  wise  man's  part  to-morrow.  I  was  a 
bubble  and  a  gull  and  a  dunce,  if  you  like,  but  I 
meant  no  harm  to  the  king,  and  the  king  smiles  on 
me.  Cannot  you  do  the  like?  " 

Katherine  came  out  of  her  dream  and  stood  upoD 
the  earth  again,  and  disdained  him. 

234 


THE  BANNERS  OF  BURGUNDY 

"  No,  for  you  envy  a  great  spirit  and  your  envy 
makes  you  a  base  thing." 

Noel  protested  pettishly: 

"  He  is  no  man-angel.  He  is  made  of  Adam's  clay 
like  the  rest  of  us." 

Katherine's  thoughts  had  wandered  away  from 
her  escort;  her  mind's  eyes  were  busy  with  waving 
banners,  the  shock  of  meeting  lances,  the  glitter  of 
steel  coats  and  the  beating  of  steel  upon  steel. 
Through  all  the  nielley,  her  fancy  spied  one  shining 
figure  in  bright  armour  like,  so  it  seemed  to  her, 
Archangel  Michael  or  Archangel  Gabriel,  riding  in 
the  pride  of  the  fight  with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  sor- 
row in  his  heart,  and  a  token  of  white  ribbon  be- 
tween his  breast-plate  and  his  breast. 

She  answered,  not  Noel's  words,  but  her  thoughts : 

"  My  pride  has  the  right  to  hate  him,  but  I  think 
he  is  still  my  soul's  man." 

Noel  was  about  to  speak  again,  when  he  suddenly 
fell  back  and  doffed  his  bonnet.  Perched  on  the 
steps  of  the  church  stood  the  stooped  sable  figure  of 
the  king,  just  coming  from  his  matinal  devotions. 
In  the  shadow  behind  him  stood  his  shadows — Tris- 
tan and  Olivier. 

Katherine,  her  attention  swerved  by  Noel's 
glance,  turned  and  swayed  a  reverence  to  Louis  as 

235 


IF   I  WERE   KING 

he  slowly  descended  the  steps.  The  king  surveyed 
them  sardonically. 

"  Good  morning,  friends,"  he  said.  Then  turning 
to  Noel,  he  ordered,  "  Take  the  top  of  your  speed  to 
St.  Anthony's  gate  and  bring  hot  news  of  the 
battle." 

Noel  bowed  and  sped  on  his  errand.  Katherine 
requested : 

"  Have  I  your  majesty's  leave?  " 

Tristan  and  Olivier  withdrew  themselves  dis- 
creetly apart,  under  the  shadow  of  the  gallows,  that 
building  of  all  human  buildings  which  was  most 
dear  to  their  hearts  and  most  sacred  in  their  eyes. 

Louis  came  very  close  to  the  pale  girl  and  whis- 
pered: 

"  Are  you  so  hungry  for  your  devotions  that  you 
cannot  waste  some  worldly  words  on  me?  Are  you 
still  angry  with  me  for  the  trick  I  played  on  you?  " 

Katherine's  pale  face  flushed  a  little  as  she 
answered: 

"  It  is  wasted  spirit  to  be  angry  with  a  king." 

Louis  grinned. 

"  You  are  as  pat  with  your  answers  as  a  clerk  at 
matins.  Could  you  give  me  your  heart  now  if  I 
bent  my  knee?  " 

Katherine  stifled  a  great  sigh. 

236 


THE  BANNERS  OF  BURGUNDY 

"  I  lost  my  heart  last  night;  I  have  not  found  it 
again." 

Louis  flung  up  his  hands  in  contemptuous  amuse- 
ment. 

"  The  fellow  was  a  fool  to  blab  so  glibly.  I  would 
have  carried  the  jest  farther.  But  he  stood  on  the 
punctilio  and  would  not  win  you  without  con- 
fession." 

The  girPs  heart  swelled. 

"  I  am  glad  he  had  so  much  honour,"  she  said,  and 
the  shining  figure  in  the  bright  armour  seemed  more 
archangel-like  than  ever. 

Louis  looked  at  her  intently,  tickling  his  chin  with 
his  forefinger. 

"  If  you  wait  in  the  church  for  his  homecoming, 
you  will  see  how  the  jest  ends,"  he  said. 

Katherine  made  the  king  a  profound  reverence 
and  slowly  entered  the  church,  every  pulse  of  her 
body  pleading  in  prayer  for  her  lost  lover.  She 
scarcely  heeded  an  old,  bowed  woman  who  tottered 
out,  propped  on  a  crutch  stick,  and  who  dropped  the 
great  lady  a  respectful  curtsey  as  she  passed  and 
went  her. ways  into  the  silent  streets.  So  the  two 
women  in  the  world  whom  Villon  loved  met  for  the 
first  time. 

Louis,  left  alone,  beckoned  to  Tristan  and  Olivier, 
who  hurried  down  to  him. 

237 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

"  There  goes  a  brave  lady,  gossips,  a  fair  lady,  a 
chaste  lady.  She  sails  in  the  high  latitudes  of  lore 
and  deserves  to  find  the  Fortunate  Islands.  Are 
there  not  better  things  to  do  with  Master  Villon 
than  to  hang  him?  " 

Olivier  protested: 

"  This  Villon  is  such  a  damnable  double  dealer 
that  the  ass-headed  populace  loves  him  better  than 
you." 

The  king's  visage  soured. 

"  That  is  enough  to  hang  him.  Yet  I  have  a  kind 
of  liking  for  the  fellow,  and  my  dream  troubles  me 
— the  star  that  fell  from  heaven." 

Tristan  commented  bluffly: 

"  Hang  the  rascal  while  you  can  and  thank 
heaven  you  are  well  rid  of  Mm." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  world  seemed  suddenly  to  be 
full  of  many  noises  and  many  voices.  From  beyond 
the  gate  on  the  ways  that  led  to  the  city  walls  came 
the  clamour  of  hoarse  shouts  and  cries  and  the  thud- 
ding din  of  running  feet.  From  the  other  side,  from 
the  street  that  led  to  the  Louvre,  came  the  ordered 
tramp  of  soldiers. 

Olivier  interpreting  one  interruption,  said: 

"  The  people  are  coming  from  the  walls." 

'And  Tristan  interpreted  the  other. 

238 


THE  BANNERS  OF  BURGUNDY 

"  The  queen,  sire,"  he  announced. 

Through  the  narrow  space  that  led  into  the  open 
square  there  came  a  line  of  soldiers  escorting  a  num- 
ber of  splendidly  caparisoned  litters — the  car- 
riages of  the  queen  and  the  queen's  chief  ladies. 
Louis  advanced  to  the  first  litter,  and  extending  his 
hand,  assisted  the  queen  to  descend  and  conducted 
her  with  an  elaborate  display  of  polite  affection  to 
the  gorgeous  dais  by  the  side  of  the  church,  where 
they  sat  side  by  side  on  the  small  thrones  that  had 
been  prepared  for  them.  The  ladies  and  gentlemen 
of  the  court  ranged  themselves  in  their  places  behind 
the  royal  pair  and  the  Scottish  archers  formed  a 
solid  force  in  front.  Through  the  open  gateway  came 
a  few  running,  shouting  enthusiasts,  ontstrippers  of 
the  mass  of  citizens  who  were  returning  from  the 
walls.  Even  the  heavy  sleep  of  Trois-Echelles  and 
Petit-Jean  was  not  proof  against  all  this  tumult. 
They  awoke,  rubbed  their  eyes,  then  climbing 
briskly  to  their  feet,  leaned  over  the  platform  on  the 
handrails  of  the  gallows  and  surveyed  the  scene  with 
interest. 

Noel  le  Jolys  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd 
about  the  gateway  and  advanced  to  the  king. 

"  Sire,"  he  said,  "  the  latest  message  from  the  bat- 
tle: The  day  is  wholly,  ours.  The  Grand  Constable 

239 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

returns  in  triumph.  You  can  hear  his  music 
now." 

Louis  nodded. 

"  It  is  very  well,"  he  affirmed  gravely. 

Through  the  gateway  the  crowd  of  people  was 
pouring  thick  and  fast,  shouting  and  cheering  and 
filling  the  square  in  front  of  the  dais  with  a  throng 
of  enthusiastic  men,  women  and  children,  all  wav- 
ing their  arms,  flinging  flowers  and  yelling  welcomes 
at  the  topmost  pitch  of  their  lungs.  The  sound  of 
military  music  and  the  tramp  of  marching  men  could 
be  heard  approaching  louder  and  louder. 

Five  girls  had  forced  their  way  to  the  very  front 
row  of  the  throne  and  were  applauding  and  shouting 
with  the  rest.  These  were  the  light  ladies  of  the 
Fircone,  Isabeau,  Jehanneton,  Denise,  and  Blanche 
with  Guillemette,  fat  Robin  Turgis'  fat  daughter. 
They  were  all  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  for  their 
lovers  had  vanished  over  night  and  their  Abbess  had1 
disappeared  like  a  dream,  and  they  knew  not  what 
had  become  of  them.  They  had  little  fear  for  their 
lovers,  for  the  good  gentlemen  of  the  Fellowship  of 
the  Cockleshell  had  a  way  of  diving  into  the  deep 
waters  of  existence  at  intervals  in  order  to  escape 
the  too  attentive  eye  and  the  too  particular  finger 
of  the  law,  and  the  girls  had  a  vague  idea  of  some 

240 


THE  BANNERS  OF  BURGUNDY 

great  scheme  on  hand  which  might  easily  result  in 
trouble  for  the  brotherhood.  As  for  their  Abbess, 
they  were  none  too  sorry  to  be  free  from  her  some- 
what decisive  authority,  and  they  chattered  and 
babbled  like  birds  escaped  from  a  cage. 

By  this  time  the  advance  guard  of  the  army  began 
to  pour  in  through  the  narrow  mouth  of  the  gateway 
and  to  form  a  line  in  front  of  the  populace,  thus 
leaving  a  wide  open  space  between  the  assembled 
people  and  the  seated  king.  From  every  window 
heads  were  thrust  and  hands  extended  waving  scarfs 
of  silk  or  scattering  flowers.  The  blare  of  the  sol- 
diers* music  grew  louder  and  louder,  the  tramp  of 
horse  and  men  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  then, 
when  the  cheering  was  at  its  shrillest  and  the  rain 
of  flowers  thickest,  Villon  rode  in  through  the  gate- 
way on  his  great  warhorse  with  his  five  ruffians  close 
at  his  heels.  Villon's  lifted  hand  gave  the  signal 
for  a  halt  and  he  leaped  lightly  off  his  horse  and 
advanced  towards  the  king,  a  glorious  figure  to  the 
eyes  of  the  crowd  in  his  shining  armour  with  a  scar- 
let coif  upon  his  helmet.  If  for  a  moment  his  glance 
rested  on  the  gaunt  skeleton  of  the  gallows  there 
came  no  change  in  the  proud  composure  of  his  face. 
Immediately  behind  him  followed  the  faithful  raga- 
muffins, each  of  whom  bore  vivid  signs  in  slung  arm, 

241 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

swathed  leg  or  bandaged  forehead  of  the  lusty  work 
he  had  done  in  the  king's  name  upon  the  king's  en- 
emies. But  the  slings  and  swathes  and  bandages 
were  of  no  common  sort,  but  splendid  bits  of  silk  of 
many  colours,  bearing  fantastic  devices  and  rich  in 
threads  of  gold  and  silver. 

As  Villon  and  his  fantastic  escort  strode  towards 
the  presence,  Noel  interposed  indignantly.  He 
stretched  a  pair  of  protecting  arms  wide  out  to  ward 
off  from  the  king  the  approach  of  so  singular  a 
deputation,  while  he  demanded  angrily: 

"  In  heaven's  name,  sir,  who  are  these  scarecrows 
•who  flaunt  their  tatters  in  the  presence  of  the 
king?  " 

The  king  nursed  his  chin  with  an  amused  smile  as 
tVillon  answered: 

"  The  scarecrows  are  rogues  who  have  fought  like 
gentlefolk  and  these  rags  are  the  banners  of  the 
enemy." 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  rapscallions  stripped  the 
pieces  of  silk  from  arm  and  leg  and  forehead,  shook 
them  out  into  such  semblance  of  their  original  shape 
as  battle  had  left  to  them  and  flung  them  with  a 
gesture  of  imperial  pride  on  the  ground  at  the  foot 
of  the  dais. 

"Well  answered,"  said  Louis  regally,  while  two 
parsuivants  pounced  swiftly  upon  the  bits  of  silk, 

242 


THE  BANNERS  OF  BURGUNDY 

and  gathering  them  up  with  reverential  fingers,  laid 
them  upon  the  railing  in  front  of  the  king's  chair  to 
be  examined  with  loving  care  by  the  queen. 
Standing  erect,  Villon  addressed  the  king: 
"  Louis  of  France,  we  bring  you  these  silks  for 
your  carpet.  An  hour  ago  they  wooed  the  wind 
from  Burgundian  staves  and  floated  over  Burgun- 
dian  helmets.  I  will  make  no  vain  glory  of  their 
winning.  Burgundy  fought  well,  but  France  fought 
better,  and  these  trophies  trail  in  our  triumph.  To 
a  mercer's  eyes  these  bits  of  tissue  are  but  so  many 
squares  of  damaged  web.  To  a  soldier's  eye,  they 
cover  crowded  graves  with  honour.  To  a  king's  eye, 
they  deck  one  throne  with  lonely  splendour.  When 
we  here,  who  breathe  hard  from  fighting,  and  ye, 
who  stand  there  and  marvel,  are  dust,  when  the 
king's  name  is  but  a  golden  space  in  chronicles  grey 
with  age,  these  banners  shall  hang  from  Cathedral 
arches  and  your  children's  children's  children,  lifted 
in  reverent  arms,  shall  peep  through  the  dim  air  at 
the  faded  colours,  and  baby  lips  shall  whisper  an 
echo  of  our  battle." 


243 


CHAPTER   XV 
THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GALLOWS 

As  Villon  ended  a  great  peal  of  music  came  from 
the  church,  the  magnificent  music  of  a  Te  Deum 
Laudamus;  while  from  the  soldiers  who  choked  the 
archway,  a  glowing  sea  of  steel,  there  rose  one  com- 
mon cry  of  "  God  save  the  Grand  Constable!  " 

Olivier  leaned  over  and  whispered  to  the  king; 

"  They  cheer  him,  sire." 

Louis  waved  him  impatiently  aside,  and  leaning 
over  the  railing,  spoke : 

"  My  Lord  Constable,  and  you,  brave  soldiers,  the 
King  of  France  thanks  you  for  your  gift.  Victory 
was  indeed  assured  you  by  the  justice  of  our  cause. 
My  Lord  of  Montcorbier,  you  may  promise  these 
brave  fellows  that  their  sovereign  will  remember 
them." 

Swiftly  Villon  turned  and  addressed  the  motley 
throng  behind  him: 

"  In  the  king's  name,  a  gold  coin  to  every  man  who 
fought  and  a  cup  of  wine  to  every  man,  woman  and 
child  who  wishes  to  drink  the  king's  health." 

The  king  smiled  wryly. 

"  Ever  generous,"  he  said. 

244 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GALLOWS 

"  To  the  end,  sire,"  Villon  answered,  with  an  ironic 
salutation,  which  Louis  answered  by  an  ironic 
question. 

"  What  have  you  now  to  do?  " 

Villon  saluted  the  king  again. 

"My  latest  duty,  sire,"  he  answered,  and  once 
again  he  turned  to  address  the  multitude: 

"  Soldiers  who  have  served  under  me,  friends  who 
have  fought  with  me,  and  you,  people,  whom  I  have 
striven  to  succour,  listen  to  my  amazing  swan  song. 
You  know  me  a  little  as  Count  of  Montcorbier,  Grand 
Constable  of  France.  I  know  myself  indifferently 
well  as  Frangois  Villon,  Master  of  Arts,  broker  of 
ballads  and  somewhile  bibber  and  brawler.  It  is 
now  my  task  as  Grand  Constable  of  France  to  de- 
clare that  the  life  of  Master  Frangois  Villon  is  for- 
feit and  to  pronounce  on  him  this  sentence,  that  he 
be  straightway  hanged  upon  yonder  gibbet." 

His  words  fell  like  the  beat  of  a  passing  bell  upon 
the  ears  of  an  absolutely  silent  crowd  and  for  some 
few  year-long  seconds  the  silence  brooded  over  the 
place.  The  five  wantons  on  the  fringe  of  the  crowd 
caught  at  each  others'  fingers  and  gasped.  Was  that 
splendid  gentleman  their  old  friend,  Frangois  Vii- 
lon?  As  for  the  five  rogues  who  knew  the  secret, 
they  had  begun  to  laugh  at  Villon's  first  words,  but 
the  laughter  dried  upon  their  lips  as  he  ended. 

245 


IF  I  WERE   RING 

From  the  church  suddenly  the  exultant  music  of 
the  Te  Deum  ceased  to  swell  and  in  its  place  crept 
forth  upon  the  silent  air  the  awful  notes  of  a 
Miserere.  The  king  had  been  at  the  ear  of  the  organ- 
ist that  morning  and  had  planned  his  effects  well. 
The  melancholy  music  stirred  the  people  to  murmurs 
of  surprise  and  protest. 

Guy  Tabarie,  flourishing  his  notched  and  bloody 
sword,  thrust  his  round  body  forward. 

"  What  jest  is  this?  "  he  asked. 

And  Villon  answered  him: 

"  Such  a  jest  as  I  would  rather  weep  over  to-mor- 
row than  laugh  at  to-day.  For  the  pitcher  breaks  at 
the  well's  mouth  this  very  morning.  Messire  Noel, 
to  you  I  surrender  my  sword.  I  like  to  believe  that 
it  has  scraped  a  little  shame  from  its  master's  coat." 

He  drew  his  great  war-sword  and  handed  it  to 
Noel  le  Jolys,  who,  for  one  of  the  few  times  in  his  life, 
astonished  into  forgetfulness  of  courtly  etiquette, 
had  been  staring,  open-mouthed,  at  the  astonishing 
revelation  that  had  just  been  made  to  him.  The  gleam 
of  the  war-worn  weapon  recalled  him  to  himself  and 
he  took  it  from  the  hands  of  the  doomed  man  with  a 
grave  courtesy  which  meant  something  more  than 
the  official  fulfillment  of  a  formal  duty.  Noel  le 
Jolys  was  a  soldier  and  his  eyes  paid  homage  to  a 
brave  man. 


246 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GALLOWS 

.Villon  turned  to  Tristan. 

"  Master  Tristan,  perform  your  office  upon  this 
self-doomed  felon." 

With  great  alacrity,  Tristan  moved  towards  Vil- 
lon, but  his  motion  was  met  by  such  angry  murmurs 
from  the  crowd,  and  not  from  the  crowd  alone,  but 
from  the  soldiers  who  had  followed  Villon  to  victory, 
that  even  he  shrank  back  instinctively  before  its 
menace.  There  came  cries  from  a  thousand  throats, 
calling  on  the  king  to  pardon  the  Grand  Constable, 
calling  upon  those  who  loved  him  to  rescue  him. 

"King,  is  this  justice?"  Ken6  de  Montigny 
shouted,  and  his  question  evoked  a  roar  of  approval 
from  the  multitude. 

The  king's  keen  glance  surveyed  the  scene  with  no 
sign  of  fear  and  no  sign  of  annoyance.  Leaning 
easily  upon  the  railing,  as  a  man  might  lean  who 
surveyed  an  amusing  farce  or  interlude,  he  addressed 
the  crowd: 

"  Good  people  of  Paris,  you  have  heard  your  Grand 
Constable  pronounce  sentence  upon  a  criminal.  Has 
Master  Francois  Villon  any  reason  to  urge,  any  plea 
to  offer,  why  the  sentence  should  not  be  carried 
out?" 

Villon  waved  his  hand  disdainfully. 

"  I  have  nothing  whatever  to  say,  sire.    Francois 

247 


IF  I   WERE   KING 

.Villon  must  die.  It's  bad  luck  for  him,  but  he  has 
worse  luck  and  so — to  business." 

As  he  spoke  he  drew  near  to  the  line  of  Scottish 
archers  and  two  of  their  number  laid  hands  on  him, 
one  at  either  side.  The  sight  of  their  hero  thus  in 
the  very  clutch  of  justice  spurred  the  multitude  to 
renewed  exasperation.  Angry  demands  for  justice, 
for  mercy,  for  rescue,  shook  the  summer  air.  Un- 
armed citizens  broke  into  an  armourer's  shop  hard 
by,  and,  seizing  whatever  weapons  they  could  lay 
their  hands  upon,  flourished  them  aloft  in  significant 
assertion  that  their  words  were  but  the  prefaces  to 
deeds.  Again  Tabarie's  bull  voice  bellowed  to  those 
about  him: 

"  Kings  must  listen  to  the  voice  of  the  people. 
Shall  the  man  who  led  us  to  victory  die  a  rogue's 
death?  " 

And  again  his  thunder  heralded  a  storm.  Soldiers 
and  citizens  alike  seemed  prepared  to  rescue  Villon 
by  force  from  the  hands  of  his  enemies.  The  Scot- 
tish archers  with  levelled  arquebusses  formed  a  line 
in  front  of  the  dais  and  every  courtier  drew  his 
sword.  Only  the  king  seemed  unmoved,  only  the 
king  seemed  entertained  by  the  wind  he  had  sowed, 
the  whirlwind  he  had  reaped.  He  asked  quite 
quietly: 

248 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GALLOWS 

"  Does  Master  Francois  Villon  ask  his  life?  " 

Villon  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  sire.  Master  Francois  Villon  played  and 
Master  Francois  Villon  pays." 

As  he  spoke  the  angry  people,  swaying  like  a  sea, 
shouted  new  shouts  of  rescue,  clamoured  new  cries 
for  pardon.  Olivier,  green-pale,  whispered  eagerly 
to  the  king: 

"  Sire,  the  rogues  are  in  a  damnable  temper.  Can 
you  not  gain  time,  postpone,  promise?  " 

Louis  answered  imperturbably : 

"  Are  the  fools  so  fond  of  the  fellow?  I  know  a 
way  to  stop  their  shouting." 

As  he  spoke,  for  the  first  time  he  rose  from  his  seat, 
a  frail,  small,  black  figure,  to  dominate  those  raging 
waves  of  humanity,  while  Olivier,  holding  up  his 
hand  to  order  silence,  shouted : 

"Peace,  peace!  The  king  would  speak  with  his 
good  people  of  Paris." 

The  noisy  voices  dropped  slowly  into  silence  to 
hear  what  the  king  said. 

"  Good  people  of  Paris,  I  am  no  tyrant.  But  a 
king  is  the  father  of  his  people,  and  his  ears  can 
never  be  shut  against  the  cries  of  his  children.  You 
all  love  this  man?  Hear,  then,  my  judgment!  This 
man's  life  is  forfeit.  Which  of  you  will  redeem  it? 

'MO 


IF  I  WERE  KING 

If  there  be  one  among  yon  ready  to  take  Master 
Frangois  .Villon's  place  on  yonder  gibbet,  let  that 
one  speak  now." 

There  was  a  brief  silence  as  the  mob  began  to  real- 
ize the  meaning  of  the  king's  words,  a  silence  broken 
by  angry  cries. 

u  What  does  he  mean?  Take  his  place  on  the  gal- 
lows! A  trick — a  trick!  " 

Louis  grinned  complacently. 

*  No  trick,  friends,  bnt  a  simple  bargain.     Here  is 
a  man  condemned  to  death;  here  is  an  idle  gibbet. 
If  ye  prize  him  so  highly,  let  one  among  you  die  for 
him.     It  has  been  said  by  the  wise  Apostle:  'Greater 
love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  man  lay  down  his 
life  for  his  friends.'    On  my  word  as  a  king,  when 
such  a  splendid  volunteer  is  swinging  at  the  end  of 
yonder  rope  that  moment  Master  Frangois  Villon 
shall  go  free.    Come,  who  will  slip  neck  in  noose  for 
the  sake  of  a  hero?  " 

Villon  protested  haughtily: 
"  No  man  shall  die  for  me." 

But,  indeed,  his  protest  was  premature.  The  anger 
of  the  crowd  dwindled  into  sullen  clamours. 

*  The  king  laughs  at  us!    'Tis  too  much  to  ask." 

A  faint,  exultant  smile  flickered  over  the  king's 
face  as  he  asked: 


250 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GALLOWS 

"  Now,  friends,  where  is  your  idol's  supplement? 
.Who  will  be  his  lieutenant,  who  will  be  heir  to  his 
heritage  of  a  cross  bar  and  a  rope?  You  are  not  so 
brisk  as  you  were.  Does  your  devotion  falter? 
Were  you  mocking  me  and  him?  " 

Villon  looked  at  the  king  with  a  kind  of  disdain- 
ful admiration. 

"King  of  foxes!"  he  applauded,  and  the  king 
heard  him  and  smiled  again. 

"  Tristan,"  he  said,  "  go  into  yonder  church  and 
bring  me  an  inch  of  candle." 

Tristan  bowed  and  entered  the  church.  The  king 
.went  on: 

"  Our  royal  mercy  is  mild,  our  royal  mercy  is 
patient.  As  it  is  our  hope  and  our  belief  to  live  in 
history  as  a  good  and  gracious  sovereign,  we  would 
not  have  it  said  of  us  that  we  denied  even  a  felon  all 
due  and  reasonable  opportunity." 

Even  while  he  spoke,  Tristan  came  out  of  the 
church  carrying  in  his  hand  a  great  gold  candlestick 
in  whose  socket  a  little  piece  of  candle,  scarce  an 
inch  high,  still  was  burning.  He  gave  it  into  the 
hands  of  one  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Scottish  Guard, 
who  held  it  in  his  strong  grasp  and  stood  as  immov- 
able as  a  statue,  while  the  thin  faint  flame  pointed 
spear-like  towards  heaven  in  the  warm  and  wind- 
less air. 

251 


IF   I  WERE   KING 

Louis  stopped  and  whispered  to  a  page  behind 
him  who  bowed  and  entered  the  church.  Then  the 
king  spoke  again  to  the  silent,  wondering  crowd: 

"  So  long  as  this  candle  burns,  so  long  Francois 
Villon  lives.  If  while  it  burns,  one  of  you  is  moved  to 
take  Master  Villon's  place  on  the  gallows,  so  much 
the  better  for  Master  Villon,  and  so  much  the  worse 
for  his  substitute.  Herald,  proclaim  our  pleasure." 

At  a  sign  from  Montjoye,  the  royal  herald,  two 
pursuivants  stirred  the  air  with  the  blast  of  golden 
trumpets.  Then  Montjoye  spoke: 

"  The  king's  grace  and  the  king's  justice  is  ready  to 
grant  life  and  liberty  to  Frangois  Villon  if  anyone  be 
found  willing  to  take  his  place  on  the  gallows  and 
die  his  death  that  he  may  live  his  life!  " 

As  Montjoye's  words  died  away  a  great  silence  fell 
upon  the  assembled  people,  a  silence  so  still  and 
cruel  that  men's  hearts  grew  cold  and  the  warm 
June  air  seemed  to  be  sighing  over  fields  of  ice.  The 
king  leaned  over  and  addressed  his  prisoner  con- 
fidentially: 

"Master  Villon,  Master  Villon,  you  see  what 
human  friendship  means  and  the  sweet  voices  of  the 
multitude." 

Villon  answered  boldly: 

"  Sire,  it  is  no  news  to  me  that  men  love  the  dear 
habit  of  living." 

252 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GALLOWS 

Louis  signalled  to  Montjoye. 

"  Proclaim  again,"  he  said;  and  once  more  the  pair 
of  pursuivants  blew  their  trumpets  and  once  again 
Montjoye  made  his  singular  proposition  of  pardon 
to  the  assemblage. 


253 


CHAPTER   XVI 
"WE  SPEAK  TO  MEN" 

IT  fell  this  time  upon  fresh  ears,  the  ears  of  an  old 
woman  who  was  patiently  pushing  her  way  through 
the  crowd  in  her  effort  to  reach  her  humble  lodging. 
She  had  succeeded  in  making  her  way  to  the  open 
space  as  the  last  words  of  the  herald's  offer  were  be- 
ing spoken,  and  suddenly  her  dulled  brain  caught 
the  full  significance  of  Montjoye's  speech.  Looking 
wildly  around  her,  she  saw  where  Villon  stood,  an 
armoured  figure  held  captive,  and  without  attempt- 
ing to  realize  the  meaning  of  what  she  beheld,  she 
dropped  her  stick  and  tottered  forward  to  the  dais, 
where  she  fell  on  her  knees  with  clasped,  entreating 
hands. 

"  Sire,  sire,  I  will  die  for  him!  " 

Villon's  heart  leaped  to  his  throat  when  he  saw 
her. 

"Mammy,  mammy,  go  away!"  he  cried,  and  he 
made  a  vain  attempt  to  move  towards  his  mother, 
a  movement  instantly  restrained  by  the  crossed 
weapons  of  his  captors.  At  the  same  moment 
Katherine  de  Vaucelles  came  out  of  the  church  door 
ia  obedience  to  the  summons  of  a  royal  page,  who 

254 


UWE  SPEAK  TO  MEN" 

had  found  her  at  her  prayers,  and  who  told  her  that 
the  king  desired  her  presence.  She  paused  at  the 
head  of  the  steps  in  amazed  survey  of  the  crowded 
place  and  a  scene  that  at  first  she  could  not  under- 
stand. 

"  Who  is  this  woman?  "  Louis  asked,  looking  down 
at  the  poor  old  dame,  who  knelt  before  him  and  be- 
sought him.  Olivier  answered  in  his  ear: 

"  The  fellow's  mother,  sire." 

A  very  little  tenderness  came  into  Louis'  eyes,  a 
very  little  tenderness  trembled  on  his  lips. 

"  Woman,  we  cannot  hear  you,"  he  said.  "  By 
God's  law  you  have  given  him  life  once  and  by  my 
law  you  may  not  give  him  life  again." 

"  Sire,  I  beseech  you,"  Mother  Villon  entreated ; 
but  the  king's  pity  was  not  to  be  purchased  so. 

"  Take  her  away  and  use  her  gently,"  he  said. 

Noel  le  Jolys  stooped  to  obey  the  king's  command, 
but  the  old  woman,  rising  to  her  feet,  repulsed  him 
fiercely. 

"No!  no!"  she  said.  "I  will  not  leave  my  son," 
and  she  flung  her  old  body  passionately  upon  the 
prisoner's  neck  and  clasped  with  her  lean  arms  his 
mailed  shoulders. 

Louis  bade  Montjoye  proclaim  for  the  last  time, 
and  once  again  the  trumpets  thundered  and  once 


IF  1  WERE   KING 

again  the  cold,  calm  voice  of  Montjoye  propounded 
the  grim  terms  of  the  king's  clemency. 

The  silence  that  followed  was  swiftly  broken  by; 
the  sweet,  clear  voice  of  a  girl. 

"I  will,"  said  Katherine  de  Vaucelles  from  her 
stand  on  the  church  steps,  and  on  the  instant  all  eyes 
were  turned  to  the  spot  where  the  maiden  stood 
with  face  as  white  as  pear-blossom  and  her  hands 
tightly  clenched  by  her  sides.  She  moved  slowly 
down  the  steps  in  the  dead  silence  and  paused  before 
the  king's  throne. 

"  I  will  die  for  him,  sire,"  she  said  quietly. 

From  Villon's  lips  there  came  a  mighty  cry  of 
"Katherine! "  and  a  fain  spot  of  colour  rose  on  the 
king's  cheeks. 

"  Mistress,  we  speak  to  men,"  he  said. 

Tristan  pressed  his  great  hands  together. 

"  By  St.  Denis,  our  women  seem  to  make  the  best 
men,"  he  grunted. 

Katherine  stood,  tall  and  proud,  facing  the  king. 
Mother  Villon,  stirred  by  this  heavenly  interference, 
left  her  son  to  fall  at  the  feet  of  the  angel  lady  and 
kiss  the  hem  of  her  garment. 

Katherine  spoke  bravely: 

"  Sire,  I  love  this  man  and  would  be  proud  to  die 
for  him.  It  may  chime  with  your  pleasure  to  slay 

256 


"WE   SPEAK  TO  MEN" 

him;  it  cannot  chime  with  your  honour  to  deny  me. 
Your  word  is  given  and  a  king  must  keep  his  word." 

The  king  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  We  speak  to  men." 

Villon  caught  at  his  words. 

"  I  speak  to  a  woman,"  he  cried,  and  gazing  pas- 
sionately at  his  love,  he  called  to  her:  "  Katherine, 
my  Katherine,  death  is  a  little  thing.  For  love  is 
deathless  and  you  give  me  a  better  thing  than  life." 

With  unmoved  voice,  with  unchanged  face,  Kath- 
erine persisted : 

"  Sire,  I  claim  your  promise." 

Louis  again  denied  her. 

"  We  speak  to  men.     Tristan,  do  your  office." 

At  this  moment  the  situation  suddenly  changed. 
Villon  unexpectedly  wrenched  himself  free  from  the 
control  of  the  two  soldiers  beside  him,  whose  hold 
had  relaxed  in  their  wonder  at  what  was  passing, 
and  sprang  towards  Katherine.  His  act  instantly 
inspired  the  hearts  and  hands  of  his  sympathisers, 
and  in  a  second  he  was  caught  up  and  encircled  by  a 
crowd  of  armed  and  determined  men,  who  drove  back 
the  Scottish  archers.  Villon  snatched  a  drawn 
sword  from  the  hand  of  Rene'  de  Montigny  and  held 
it  high  in  the  air  while  he  shouted: 

"  No,  by  God's  rood,  the  candle  of  my  grace  has  not 

357, 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

jet  burnt  to  the  socket!  People  of  Paris,  shall  I  not 
speak  to  my  lover  before  I  die?  " 

The  place  was  a  raving  bedlam  of  noise  and  men- 
ace»  The  Scottish  archers  did  not  dare  to  make  anj 
attempt  to  recapture  their  escaped  prisoner,  but  kept 
their  line  in  front  of  the  royal  dais,  while  Villon 
stood  by  the  side  of  Katherine  with  drawn  sword,  an 
archangel  of  insurrection,  ready  at  any  moment  to 
fling  the  forces  behind  him  upon  his  adversaries. 
Yet  the  king  remained  as  unmoved  as  if  he  had  been 
witnessing  a  puppet  show.  In  his  thin,  even  voice, 
he  commanded: 

"  Speak  to  her  while  the  candle  burns,  not  a  second 
longer." 

With  one  accord,  Villon's  adherents  drew  back 
and  Villon  was  left  with  Katherine  alone  in  the  open 
space. 

Katherine  whispered  to  him: 

"Francois,  will  you  not  take  life  at  my  hands?  " 

Villon  answered  her  tenderly: 

"  Dear  child,  if  that  crowned  Judas  there  had 
taken  you  at  your  word,  do  you  think  I  would  have 
outlived  you  by  the  space  of  a  second?  "• 

She  looked  fixedly  into  his  eyes. 

"  You  are  resolved?  " 

He  smiled  back  at  her. 

258 


"WE  SPEAK  TO  MEN" 

"  I  am  as  stubborn  as  a  mule  and  no  pleadings  will 
move  me." 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  with  a  shudder. 

"  Dearest,  the  candle  flickers  in  the  wind.  There 
is  a  dagger  in  your  girdle.  Slay  me  and  yourself." 

"You  mean  it?"  he  gasped,  and  she  answered 
firmly: 

"  By  God's  Mother  and  God's  Son." 

A  sudden,  wonderful  thought  flashed  through  Vil- 
lon's mind.  He  had  won  love,  he  could  not  hope  to 
win  life,  but  at  least  he  might  so  manage  as  to  die  a 
soldier's  death  and  not  a  knave's.  He  whispered  to 
her  eagerly : 

"  Then  we  will  spoil  old  Louis'  pleasure  yet.  Love, 
will  you  marry  me  here  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows?  " 

She  answered  him: 

"  With  all  my  heart." 

Instantly  he  turned  and  left  her  and  strode 
towards  the  throne. 

"  King,  I  crave  your  patience,  but  your  sentence 
must  tarry  and  turn,  for  I  claim  to  marry  this  lady." 

Louis  smiled  derisively. 

"  It  is  too  late.  Sing  your  neck-rhyme  and  have 
done,  for  your  noose  is  too  large  for  a  wedding  ring." 

Villon  gave  him  back  smile  for  smile. 

"  Sire,"  he  said,  "  I  am  a  Master  of  Arts  of  the 

259 


IF   I   WERE    RING 

University  of  Paris  and  as  such  have  the  right  in 
extremis  to  any  sacrament  of  the  church.  I  have 
lived  a  confirmed  bachelor,  but  now  I  have  a  mind  to 
change  my  state.  Find  me  a  priest,  King  Louis." 

Olivier  stooped  to  the  king. 

"He  speaks  the  truth,  sire.  He  can  claim  this 
right." 

Louis  leaned  forward  interested. 

"  What  do  you  hope  to  gain  by  this?  " 

Villon  answered  calmly: 

"  The  right  to  die  like  a  soldier  by  the  sword,  not 
like  a  rogue  by  the  rope." 

A  murmur  of  approval  stirred  the  silent  crowd,  but 
it  died  away  as  Katherine  suddenly  advanced  and 
stood,  a  white  figure  like  a  fair  lily,  between  the  king 
and  Villon. 

"  Nay,  you  gain  more  than  this.  I  am  the  Lady 
Katherine  de  Vaucelles,  kinswoman  of  the  royal 
house,  mistress  of  a  hundred  lands,  Grand  Senes- 
chale  of  Gascony,  Warden  of  the  Marches  of  Poitou. 
In  my  own  domains  I  exercise  the  High  Justice  and 
the  Low.  This  man  is  of  humble  birth,  and  when  I 
marry  him  he  becomes  my  vassal.  Over  my  vassals 
I  hold  the  law  of  life  and  death." 

Villon  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  his  lady. 

Louis  clapped  his  thin  hands  together  as  a  man 
might  applaud  a  play. 

260 


*  WE  SPEAK  TO  MEN" 

"  You  are  a  bold  minion  and  you  have  a  quick  wit. 
But  if  you  marry  this  gaol  bird  you  decline  to  his 
condition.  Your  high  titles  fall  from  you,  your 
great  estates  are  forfeit  to  the  crown  and  you  and 
he  must  go  out  into  exile  together;  the  beggar 
woman  with  the  beggar  man." 

Katherine  turned  to  Villon  where  he  knelt  beside 
her. 

"  'Tis  a  little  price  to  pay  for  my  lover." 

Villon  looking  up  into  her  eyes,  questioned  her: 

"Do  you  think  I'm  worth  it,  Kate?  'Tis  a  big 
price  to  pay  for  this  poor  anatomy." 

She  repeated  her  words. 

"  'Tis  a  little  price  to  pay  for  my  lover.  Do  you 
rdoubt  me?" 

Unheeded  a  man-at-arms  pushed  his  way  through 
the  crowd  to  the  king's  dais  and  whispered  some 
words  in  the  ear  of  Noel  le  Jolys,  who  in  turn  whis- 
pered in  the  ear  of  Olivier  and  Olivier  hearing,  grew 
paler  than  before.  Villon  caught  Katherine  by  the 
hand. 

"  No,  Kate,  no!  The  world  is  wide,  our  hearts  are 
light.  For  a  star  has  fallen  to  me  from  heaven  and 
it  fills  the  earth  with  glory." 

His  words  fell  on  the  king's  ears  like  the  voice  of 
an  oracle.  Standing  in  his  place  with  staring  eyes 

261 


IF  I  WERE   KING 

and  trembling  fingers,  he  repeated  falteringly  the 
mystic  words. 

"  A  star  has  fallen  from  heaven.  My  dream,  my 
dream!" 

Olivier  plucked  at  his  mantle,  whispering  with 
twitching  lips: 

"My  liege,  this  story  spreads  like  the  plague  in 
the  city  and  every  alley  vomits  mutiny." 

Lonis  pushed  him  aside. 

*  Hub  your  pale  cheeks,"  he  said;  "  for  all  is  well. 
Destiny  has  spoken." 

Then  leaning  over  and  stretching  his  thin  hand 
towards  the  crowd,  he  cried : 

"  People  of  Paris,  that  man  shall  have  his  life;  this 
woman  her  lover.  I  have  tried  a  man's  heart  and 
found  it  pure  gold;  a  woman's  soul  and  found  it  all 
angel.  True  man  and  true  woman,  to  each  other'? 
arms!" 

And  Katherine  and  Yillon  obeyed  the  king. 


263 


EPILOGUE 

A.T  about  this  point  in  his  narrative,  Dom  Gregory, 
as  those  happy  few  who  are  familiar  with  his  manu- 
script in  the  Abbey  of  Bonne  Aventure  are  aware, 
diverges  from  the  full  current  of  his  story  to  indulge 
in  some  philosophical  reflections  upon  the  character 
of  Louis  XI. 

What,  Dom  Gregory  asks  in  cautious  interroga- 
tion, were  the  real  intentions  of  the  monarch  with 
regard  to  Francois  Villon  and  the  Lady  Katherine 
de  Vaucelles?  His  enemies  no  doubt  assert  that  he 
played  with  their  destinies  for  a  purely  malignant 
purpose  and  was  only  prevented  from  carrying  his 
evil  intentions  into  effect  by  the  storm  of  popular 
indignation  that  threatened  him.  Others,  again, 
who  pretend  to  a  more  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  shifty  character  of  the  king,  insist  that  he  did 
indeed  purpose  to  send  Master  Villon  to  the  gallows, 
or  at  least  and  worse,  into  a  beggar's  exile,  but  that 
he  was  stayed  by  Master  Villon's  happy  use  of  the 
phrase  concerning  a  star  fallen  from  heaven,  which 
words,  harping  upon  the  superstitious  wits  of  his 
majesty,  made  him  believe  that  the  dream  which  had 
puzzled  him  was  interpreted  and  fulfilled.  In  this 

263 


IF  I  WERE   RING 

regard  Dom  Gregory  records  with  a  sly  gravity 
how  many  suggest  that  Master  Francois  used  those 
words  of  set  purpose  with  the  very  intention  of  play- 
ing upon  the  strained  strings  of  the  king's  mind. 
But  there  be  those,  too,  Dom  Gregory  adds,  and  we 
gather  from  his  manner  that  he  is  inclined  to  include 
-himself  in  their  number,  there  be  those  partisans  of 
the  king  who  maintain  that  the  king's  cruelty  was 
from  the  start  a  mere  mask  for  clemency,  that  he 
only  intended  a  little  malicious  sport  with  the  too 
outspoken  lover  and  the  too  disdainful  lass,  and  that 
it  had  never  been  in  the  scope  of  his  thoughts  seri- 
ously to  punish  either  the  broker  of  ballads  or  the 
valiant  maid  of  Vaucelles. 

Starting  from  this  point,  Dom  Gregory  indulges  in 
a  great  many  reflections  upon  kings  and  kingship 
and  the  consequences  of  kingly  acts,  all  of  which 
seemed  perhaps  more  momentous  at  the  time  when 
they  were  written  and  in  the  sleepy  Abbey  where 
they  lie  enshrined,  than  in  busier  and  more  bustling 
times.  One  could  have  wished  that  Dom  Gregory 
had  let  such  philosophies  go  by  the  board  and  had 
given  us  instead  some  greater  knowledge  of  what 
happened  to  Francois  Villon  and  Katherine  de 
.Vaucelles  after  they  fell  upon  each  other's  necks  IB 
that  open  place  in  Paris,  with  the  mob  huzzahing, 

264 


EPILOGUE 

the  king  staring  and  Tristan's  strange  satellites 
busily  dismantling  the  useless  gibbet.  But  here 
Dom  Gregory  is  little  less  than  dumb.  Losses  in  the 
manuscript  account  for  much  of  his  silence;  perhaps 
his  ecclesiastical  indifference  to  the  wedded  state 
may  account  for  more.  If  we  can  gather  vaguely 
from  other  sources  that  the  poet  and  his  mistress 
settled  down  on  a  small  and  quiet  estate  in  Poitou, 
lived  a  peaceful  country  life  for  many  years  and  died 
a  peaceful  country  death  at  the  end,  it  is  the  most 
we  can  hope  to  gain  with  surety.  We  are  glad  to 
believe  in  their  happiness,  for  he  was  a  true  lover 
and  she  was  a  fair  woman. 


265 


NEW  POPULAR  EDITIONS  OF 

MARY^  JOHNSTON'S 
NOVELS 

TO  HAVE  AND  TO  HOLD 

It  was  something  new  and  startling  to  see  an  au- 
thor's first  novel  sell  up  into  the  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands, as  did  this  one.  The  ablest  critics  spoke  of 
it  in  such  terms  as  "  Breathless  interest,"  The  high 
water  mark  of  American  fiction  since  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  "  Surpasses  all,"  "  Without  a  rival,"  "  Ten- 
der and  delicate,"  "  As  good  a  story  of  adventure  as 
one  can  find,"  "  The  best  style  of  love  story,  clean, 
pure  and  wholesome." 
AUDREY 

With  the  brilliant  imagination  and  the  splendid 
courage  of  youth,  she  has  stormed  the  very  citadel 
of  adventure.  Indeed  it  would  be  impossible  to 
carry  the  romantic  spirit  any  deeper  into  fiction. — 
Agnes  Repplier. 

PRISONERS  OF  HOPE 

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Me  and  passion,  and  preserving  throughout  a  singu- 
larly even  level  ot  excellence.  ^  /  ^ 
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Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play,  as  originally 
produced  at  the  Boston  Theatre. 

IF  I  WERE  KING :    By  Justin  Huntly  McCarthy. 

Illustrations  from  the  play,  as  produced  by  E.  H. 
Sothern. 

DOROTHY  VERNON  OF  HADDON    HALLs 

By  Charles  Major. 

The  Bertha  Galland  Edition,  with  illustrations  from 
the  play. 

WHEN  KNIGHTHOOD  WAS    IN    FLOWER: 
By  Charles  Major. 

Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  remarkably  suc- 
cessful play,  as  presented  by  Julia  Marlowe. 

THE  VIRGINIAN :    By  Owen  Wister. 

With  full  page  illustrations  by  A.  I.  Keller. 
Dustin  Farnum  has  made  the  play  famous  by  his 
creation  of  the  title  role. 

THE  MAN  ON  THE  BOX:'^By  Harold  MacGrath. 

Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  play,  as  originally 
produced  in  New  York,  by  Henry  E.  Dixey.  A  piquant, 
charming  story,  and  the  author's  greatest  success. 

These  books  are  handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  are 
well-made  in  every  respect,  and  aside  from  their  un- 
usual merit  as  stones,  are  particularly  interesting  to 
those  who  like  things  theatrical.  Price,  postpaid, 
seventy-five  cents  each. 

GBOS8ET    &    DUNLAP,    PUBLISHEBS 
T52  DUANE  STREET          ».:         NEW  YORK 


A     000  030  780 


